vf)nc 

OLD  BLOOD 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/  lL 


The  Old  Blood 


By  FREDERICK,  PALMER 

AUTHOR  OF 
"The  Last  Shot,"     My  Year  of  the  Great  War,"     Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangements  with  DODD.  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  igig, 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


PS 
3531 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I  A  HOME-COMING         .        .  i 

II  Two  GIRLS  ON  A  TRAIN      .  .       21 

III  AN  INVITATION    .       .       .  .       28 

IV  Too  MUCH  ANCESTOR        .  .       35 
V  THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES  .  .       55 

VI  AT  MERVAUX       .        .        .  .       66 

VII  A  FULL-FACE  PORTRAIT     .  .       87 

VIII  ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  HELEN  .       99 

IX  A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE  .  .108 

X  THE  VOICE  AT  His  ELBOW  .  .      119 

XI  SHE  SAID,  "  YES  I"       ...      131 

XII  THE  GUNS  SPEAK       .        .  .      135 

XIII  A  MATTER  OF  GALLANTRY  .  .      148 

XIV  "  IF  I  WISH  IT!"        ...      157 
XV  HELEN  ASKS  A  FAVOUR      .  .163 

XVI  A  CHANGE  OF  PLANS  .        .  .168 

XVII  UNDER  FIRE         .        .        .  .174 

XVIII  A  RUN  FOR  IT      .        .        .  .185 

XIX  A  CHOICE  OF  BILLETS  .  202 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX  UNDER  ARREST  ....  209 

XXI  A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES  .        .  221 

XXII     VICTORY! 232 

XXIII  LONGFIELD  DECIDES         .        .  243 

XXIV  HELEN  ARRIVES        .        .        .  251 
XXV  HENRIETTE  WAITS    .        .        .263 

XXVI  A  DIRECT  HIT  .        .        .        .273 

XXVII  A  SMILING  HELEN    .        .        .  282 

XXVIII  A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  .        .        .  289 

XXIX  IN  HER  PLACE  AGAIN      .        .  306 

XXX  PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    .  315 

XXXI  A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN  .        .  328 

XXXII     LIGHT 347 

XXXIII  SPINNING  WEBS       ...  362 


THE  OLD  BLOOD 


THE  OLD  BLOOD 

CHAPTER  I 

A    HOME-COMING 

PERHAPS  a  real  story-teller,  who  leaps  into 
the  heart  of  things,  would  have  begun  this 
story  in  France  instead  of  with  a  railroad 
journey  from  the  Southwest  to  New  England; 
perhaps  he  would  have  taken  the  view  of  "  our 
Philip's  "  mother  that  Phil  fought  the  whole  war 
in  Europe  himself;  perhaps  given  the  story  the 
name  of  "  The  Plain  Girl,"  leaving  Phil  secondary 
place. 

A  veracious  chronicler,  consulting  Phil's 
wishes,  makes  his  beginning  with  a  spring  after 
noon  of  1914,  when  the  Berkshire  slopes  were 
dripping  and  glistening  and  smiling  and  the  air, 
washed  by  showers  and  purified  by  a  burst  of 
sunshine,  was  like  some  rare  vintage  which  might 
be  drunk  only  on  the  premises. 

Complaining  in  a  familiar  way  as  it  followed 
the  course  of  a  winding  stream,  which  laughed 
in  flashes  of  pearly  white  over  rocky  shallows, 
the  train  ran  out  into  a  broad  valley — the  home 
valley.  Not  a  road  that  he  had  not  tramped 


2  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

over;  not  a  woodland  path  that  he  did  not  know; 
not  a  mountain  trail  that  he  had  not  climbed. 
The  scene  was  bred  in  his  blood. 

If  Bill  Hurley  were  at  the  station  the  auguries 
would  be  right,  and  there  he  was,  standing  on 
the  same  spot  where  he  had  stood  for  twenty 
years  when  the  trains  arrived;  there,  too,  the 
stooped  old  station  agent  in  his  moment  of  bus 
tling  importance.  By  the  calendar  of  Bill's  chin 
it  was  Tuesday;  for  Bill  shaved  only  on  Sunday 
and  Wednesday  afternoons.  A  man  of  observa 
tion  and  opinion  this  keeper  of  the  gate  of  Long- 
field,  who  let  the  world  come  to  him  and  took 
charge  of  its  baggage  and  conveyed  its  persons 
to  their  destinations.  He  was  also  a  dispenser 
of  news. 

'  The  Jerrods  have  got  that  new  porch,"  he 
said.  '  They'd  been  talking  about  it  so  long 
that  they're  sort  of  lost-minded  and  dumb  these 
days.  And  Hanks  has  put  in  a  new  soda  fountain 
and  plate  glass  windows.  Ambitious  man,  Hanks. 
Nothing  can  keep  him  from  branching  out." 
"  And  nothing  can  change  you,  Bill." 
"  Me?  I  guess  not.  May  wither  a  little  when 
the  winters  are  hard,  but  you'll  find  me  here  fifty 
years  from  now.  H-m-m!"  after  looking  Phil 
over.  Bound  to  happen  to  young  fellers  out  of 
college.  Noticed  it  often.  Something  rubbed 
off  you  and  something  rubbed  in  out  West,  I 
jedge." 


A  HOME-COMING  3 

"  You  have  it — and  in  one  of  your  epigrams, 
as  usual,"  Phil  agreed. 

"  Folks  do  say  that  I  have  a  tolerable  under 
standing  of  human  nature,  not  to  mention  a 
sententious  way  of  saying  things,  which  I've  al 
ways  said  comes  from  handling  trunks.  Hear 
you're  going  to  Europe." 

"Always  well  informed!"   Phil   affirmed. 

"  Never  denied  it.  Well,  you've  earned  the 
trip  Three  years  out  there.  Made  good,  too, 
everybody  says.  Soon  as  you've  seen  your  folks 
and  eat  your  veal,  you  and  me  must  have  a  talk 
about  old  times.  Trunk  and  suit  case?  Right! 
Have  'em  up  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Beyond  the  station  was  the  old  wooden  bridge, 
which  spanned  the  river  here  running  deep  and 
sluggish  under  drooping,  solicitous  willows.  Then 
the  avenue  of  maples;  and  at  the  end  of  the 
vista  of  deep  shade,  in  the  bright  light  of  the 
little  square,  the  statue  of  a  strenuous  gentleman 
in  bronze  who,  sword  in  hand,  was  charging 
British  redcoats.  For  Longfield  had  a  real  work 
of  art,  though  not  all  Longfield  appreciated  the 
fact  yet  and  certain  Puritan  sections  were  inclined 
to  regard  anything  called  a  work  of  art  with 
suspicion. 

In  boyhood  Phil  had  heard  so  much  about  the 
hero  at  home  that  he  seemed  a  bore.  To-day 
that  spirited,  indomitable  figure  gave  him  a  thrill. 
With  a  fresh  eye  he  realised  its  quality  and  some- 


4  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

thing  deeper  than  that  in  a  wave  of  personal 
gratitude  to  a  famous  sculptor,  also  a  son  of 
Longfield,  known  in  other  lands  where  the  an 
cestor  was  unknown,  who  had  taken  the  com 
mission  out  of  civic  pride  for  a  small  fee  and  the 
satisfaction  of  putting  his  best  into  a  chivalrous 
subject  after  having  received  a  large  fee  for  doing 
a  statesman  in  a  frock  for  the  grounds  of  a 
State  capital. 

Phil  recalled  how  his  father  and  mother 
and  the  Sons  of  the  Revolution,  and  also  the 
Daughters  thereof,  had  favoured  a  full  Con 
tinental  uniform  for  the  hero.  But  the  sculptor 
had  had  enough  of  coats.  Not  lacking  in  that 
pithiness  of  expression  which  is  salad  to  genius, 
he  had  told  the  family  and  societies  and  com 
mittees  and  all  such  that  either  he  would  have 
his  way  or  they  could  employ  a  mortuary  chiseller 
and  a  tailor,  who  would  gratify  their  conceptions 
of  martial  dignity  by  clothing  a  gallant  gentle 
man  who  had  fought  free-limbed  on  a  hot  August 
day  in  an  overcoat,  muffler  and  mittens  and  two 
suits  of  underclothes,  which  would  have  meant 
death  to  freedom  from  sunstroke  and  that  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  might  be  a  relic  in 
the  British  Museum. 

Coatless,  hatless,  sleeves  rolled  and  shirt  open 
at  the  throat,  young  and  lean,  with  every  fibre 
attuned  to  conflict,  the  "  rebel  "  who  had  helped 
to  found  a  nation  now  served  the  purpose  not  of 


A  HOME-COMING  5 

stopping  a  British  charge,  but  of  bringing  touring 
automobiles  to  a  standstill  while  their  occupants 
appreciated,  either  by  virtue  of  their  own  taste 
or  by  the  desire  to  be  in  fashion  with  the  taste  of 
their  superiors,  what  many  considered  to  be  the 
best  work  of  a  master,  in  contrast  with  the  grave 
yard  effigies,  which  had  the  martial  spirit  of 
Alaskan  totem  poles,  from  the  same  mould  in 
other  squares,  to  glorify  the  deeds  of  local  regi 
ments  in  the  Civil  War. 

Longfield  was  proud  of  the  statue  because  it 
attracted  so  much  attention  and  because  it  was 
Longfield's  and  yet  resentful  because  it  attracted 
more  attention  than  the  elms.  Tourists  thought 
that  other  villages  had  equally  as  noble  elms  as 
Longfield — equally  patched  and  scarred.  Long- 
.  field  knew  better.  Its  elms  were  without  com 
parison.  From  the  selectmen's  point  of  view 
the  cost  of  nursing  was  considerable,  too,  which 
gave  further  merit  over  the  statue,  which  cost 
nothing  for  upkeep. 

Besides,  the  elms  were  old  when  the  hero  was 
a  child.  They  marked  the  epoch  of  the  village's 
birth,  even  as  the  maples  marked  that  of  the 
railroad's  coming.  Nothing  in  Old  England  is 
quite  as  old  as  New  England.  Not  even  the 
pyramids  are  as  old  as  a  New  England  elm. 
Europe  may  repair  and  renovate  cathedrals;  New 
England  repairs  and  renovates  elms.  The  Puri 
tan  Fathers  planted  trees  on  such  broad  main 


6  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

streets  as  that  of  Longfield,  with  stretches  of 
green  border  of  old  turf  now  curving  around  the 
massive  trunks  that  supported  their  stately  plumes 
— a  street  which  Phil  saw  in  its  age,  its  serenity 
and  its  spring  freshness  with  the  appreciation  of 
one  come  from  the  Southwest,  plus  the  call  of 
old  association  which  absence  strengthens.  To 
him  the  Berkshires  were  the  hills  of  all  hills; 
Longfield  the  village  of  villages;  this  street  the 
street  of  streets;  and  the  most  majestic  elm  stood 
beside  a  path  which  led  to  the  house  of  houses. 
Home-coming  had  kindled  his  sentiment.  He 
had  been  long  enough  out  of  college  not  to  be 
ashamed  of  a  little  of  it,  if  he  did  not  have  to 
mention  it  to  anybody. 

It  was  this  mood  in  its  desire  to  find  all  home 
pictures  unchanged  that  had  kept  him  from  nam 
ing  his  train;  and  he  had  taken  one  arriving  in  the 
afternoon  in  the  hope  of  witnessing  the  scene 
which  was  set  for  that  hour  in  the  routine  of 
the  Reverend  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Sanford,  of 
Longfield.  Their  chairs  in  the  accustomed  places 
on  the  porch,  the  father  was  reading  and  the 
mother  sewing  in  their  conscious  and  unspoken 
companionship.  What  a  delightful  pair  of  se 
questered  old  dears  they  were !  How  worldly 
he  felt  beside  them! 

They  had  not  heard  his  steps.  He  paused 
until  his  mother  should  see  him,  for  he  knew 
that  she  would  be  the  first  to  look  up.  When  she 


A  HOME-COMING  7 

did,  her  little  outcry,  as  she  put  her  hand  im 
pulsively  on  the  doctor's  knee  to  draw  the  at 
tention  of  an  absent-minded  husband,  was  also 
entirely  in  keeping  with  his  anticipation  and  with 
the  dependability  of  habit  in  Longfield,  which 
was  not  the  least  of  its  charms.  She  was  well 
on  her  way  to  meet  him  before  his  father  had 
taken  off  his  spectacles  and  placed  the  marker 
in  his  book.  After  Philip  had  embraced  them 
they  were  silent,  taking  in  the  reality  of  him 
who  had  been  so  long  absent  and  possibly  a  little 
awed  at  the  presence  of  this  sturdy,  tanned  only 
son — come  to  them  late  when  they  had  almost 
given  up  ever  having  any  children — who  had  been 
out  battling  with  that  world  which  was  confusing 
and  forbidding  to  them. 

He  slipped  his  arm  around  his  mother's  waist. 
She  took  his  hand  in  hers  with  a  fluttering  of 
mothering  impulse,  as  he  directed  their  steps  by 
the  side  path  which  led  to  the  garden,  while  the 
father  brought  up  the  rear. 

"  You've  been  successful,  Phillie,"  she  said, 
the  thought  uppermost  in  mind  coming  out  first. 
"  It  was  such  an  undertaking  and  we're  so 
pleased."  She  might  have  said  proud,  but  that 
was  a  vain  word.  Self-warned  about  the  weak 
ness  of  parents  with  only  sons,  it  had  been  her 
rule  never  to  spoil  Phil  with  praise. 

"  Yes,  I've  done  pretty  well  for  a "  and 


8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

he  glanced  around  at  his  father  in  the  freemasonry 
of  a  settled  comradeship. 

"  For  a  minister's  son !  "  put  in  the  father, 
chuckling. 

"  I  had  to,"  Philip  proceeded.  "  I  was  right 
up  against  it.  It  was  rough  stuff  at  first  and 
Mexico  the  limit!  " 

"  What  language !  "  exclaimed  the  father,  who 
could  be  a  purist  on  occasion. 

"  Very  expressive !  "  said  the  mother,  defend 
ing  her  son.  "  It  must  have  been  rough,  indeed." 
She  would  have  forgiven  Philip  if  he  had  said 
damn  that  afternoon. 

"  In  other  words,"  observed  the  Reverend  Dr. 
Sanford,  "  when  it  came  to  the  rough  stuff  Philip 
was  no  piker !  I've  been  studying  up  so  as  to 
make  you  feel  at  home,"  he  added,  with  another 
chuckle. 

"  What  do  you  think  my  first  job  was?  "  Phil 
said.  "  I  didn't  tell  you  that.  It  was  cleaning 
out  cattle  cars." 

"Oh,  Phil,  no!"  She  looked  down  at  her 
son's  hands  as  if  wondering  how  such  horrors 
could  be. 

"  He  has  washed  them  since,"  observed  the 
father. 

"  Now  you're  both  up  to  your  old  tricks,  teas 
ing  me!  "  she  said  admonishingly.  "And,  Phil- 
lie  " — she  pressed  a  point  of  unsatisfied  maternal 
curiosity  which  his  letters  had  never  answered 


A  HOME-COMING  9 

— "  you  never  told  us  why  it  was  that  you  did 
not  go  to  work  for  Peter — that  is,  your  side 
of  it.  You  seem  to  have  had  a  quarrel  with 
him." 

In  a  sense  Peter  Smithers  was  one  of  the  San- 
ford  family.  He  had  been  a  clever  village  boy 
whom  Phil's  grandfather  had  taken  under  his 
wing  some  forty  years  ago,  and  the  type  of  clever 
village  boy  who  does  not  need  sheltering  wings 
for  long.  Middle  age  found  him  the  head  of  a 
great  manufacturing  business  in  New  Jersey. 
Hieing  homeward,  New  England  fashion,  he  had 
built  himself  a  big  country  place  back  in  the 
hills,  which  he  referred  to  as  "  my  little  farm." 
People  spoke  of  him  as  a  millionaire,  but  he 
insisted  that  he  was  dirt  poor.  He  was  a  bache 
lor,  with  no  heirs,  a  fact  which  Mrs.  Sanford, 
more  practical  than  the  clergyman,  could  never 
forget  when  she  thought  of  the  future  of  her 
son. 

"What  was  Peter's  side?"  Phil  asked. 

"  He  said  that  you  didn't  want  to  begin  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ladder." 

"  And  yet  he  began  at  the  bottom  of  a  cattle 
car,"  said  the  father. 

"  I  didn't  mind  a  humble  beginning,"  said  Phil,, 
"  but  from  the  way  that  Peter  spoke  I  was  afraid 
there  wasn't  in  his  establishment  a  place  so  hum 
ble  but  if  I  took  it  I  might  be  the  ruin  of  his 
business.  You  see,  mother,  I  was  cleaning  out 


io  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

those  cattle  cars  on  the  orders  of  a  stranger.  I 
knew  that  he  was  not  hiring  me  because  my 
grandfather  had  done  him  a  favour." 

"  Peter  did  not  mean  it  that  way.  It's  only 
his  manner,"  persisted  his  mother.  "  I  think 
he  was  really  hurt  about  it.  I  suppose  you  know 
that  he  is  going  to  give  all  his  money  for  found 
ing  a  school  and  club  for  his  employees.  He 
talks  of  nothing  else." 

"  I  can  hear  him,  mother." 

But  there  Peter  and  his  eccentricities  and 
philanthropic  projects  vanished  from  mind  at 
sight  of  an  expense  of  gingham  apron  filling  the 
kitchen  doorway  and  covering  the  ample  form  of 
Jane,  grinning  and  beneficent,  who,  as  she  herself 
said,  was  no  skittish  young  thing  who  didn't  know 
a  good  place  when  she  had  it,  which  accounted 
for  the  Sanfords  having  retained  their  general 
houseworker. 

Diplomacy  and  gratitude  demanded  that 
homage  be  paid  to  Jane;  and  affection  which  began 
with  childhood  greeted  Patrick,  the  gardener, 
leaning  on  his  hoe  and  sucking  in  his  pipe,  as 
Phil  had  seen  him  a  thousand  times.  Unchanged 
the  garden  with  its  bounteous  colour,  its  perfume, 
and  green  and  budding  and  flowering  promise 
of  plenty  in  that  little  world  walled  in  by  larches 
from  the  neighbours  on  either  side  in  the  village 
world  in  turn  walled  in  by  the  hills,  gone  golden 
in  high  lights  and  dark  in  shadows  in  the  re- 


A  HOME-COMING  n 

cesses  of  the  woods  with  the  lowering  slant  of  the 
sun's  rays. 

"  There  is  no  place  like  it,"  said  Phil.  "  My 
roots  are  in  this  soil  as  deep  as  the  elms." 

Unchanged  Patrick,  whose  articulation  was 
sufficient  indication  without  explanation  that  he 
had  not  yet  brought  himself  to  wear  store  teeth 
except  at  funerals  and  on  Sundays,  or  on  any 
other  occasion  when  he  wore  a  starched  collar. 

"  Strawberries  are  ripe,"  said  Jane.  "  Do  you 
still  like  strawberry  shortcake,  Phillie?" 

»  M-m-m— yes  !  " 

"  That  sounds  natural.  It's  the  way  you  used 
to  say  it  when  you  was  little.  Lord,  but  you 
did  have  an  appetite  down  to  your  soles !  Now, 

see  here "  Jane  squared  herself,  eyeing  him 

very  sternly. 

"Yes,  Jane?" 

"  Do  you  think  that  your  mother  can  make 
better  strawberry  shortcake  than  me?" 

"  Jane,  the  excellence  of  your  puddings  is 
known  far  beyond  this  valley;  your  biscuits  would 
melt  in  the  mouth  of  a  polar  explorer,  and  your 
bisque  of  tomato  is  surpassed  only  by  your " 

Phil  used  to  talk  to  her  in  this  way  when  he 
was  home  on  holidays,  at  once  pleasing  and  con 
vincing  her  that  he  was  really  getting  a  college 
education;  but  she  was  not  to  be  put  off  by  any 
verbal  trickery  this  time. 

"  Speak  out,  sir !  "  she  insisted. 


12  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Then,  mother  can." 

"  Good!  "  said  Jane.  "  I  wouldn't  think  much 
of  any  man  who  didn't  think  his  mother  could 
make  better  strawberry  shortcake  than  any  hired 
girl  that  ever  lived.  Always  stand  up  for  your 
own  flesh  and  blood,  I  say,  even  if  your  mother 
can't  make  better  strawberry  shortcake  'n  me — 
which  in  my  opinion  she  can't." 

Discreetly  he  withdrew  from  the  miracle-work 
ing  in  the  kitchen  after  his  mother  had  put  on  a 
big  apron,  and  followed  Dr.  Sanford  into  the 
study.  Among  the  rows  of  books  which  made 
the  wall  invisible  from  floor  to  ceiling  were  several 
written  by  Dr.  Sanford,  which  were  considered  of 
some  account  by  students  of  theology. 

"You  will  be  going  to  England?"  he  asked, 
as  they  sat  down. 

'  Yes,  and  to  France  and  Germany;  a  quick 
trip  of  it." 

"  Your  first  to  Europe.  I  envy  you  going  in 
your  youth,  for  I  went  in  my  youth.  Germany, 
too,  eh?  The  Teutonic  influence  is  spreading 
in  all  our  universities.  We  are  in  the  age  of 
materialism.  Of  course  you'll  visit  our  cousin 
in  Hampshire.  I  have  written  a  letter  of  intro 
duction." 

He  took  up  an  envelope  addressed  to  the  Rev 
erend  Arthur  Sanford,  The  Vicarage,  Truckle- 
ford,  Hants,  England.  Philip  took  out  the  letter 
and  read: 


A  HOME-COMING  13 

"  MY  DEAR  COUSIN: 

"  Since  my  long  letter  of  a  few  days  ago  my 
son,  the  bearer,  whom  I  have  so  often  described 
that  you  must  feel  as  if  you  knew  him,  has  re 
turned  from  the  West,  where  his  success  has  been 
such  that  he  can  afford  the  trip  to  Europe  which 
I  might  not  give  him  myself  as  I  wished  after  his 
graduation  from  college.  My  first  thought  on 
learning  the  news  was  that  you  should  see  him 
and  that  he  should  pay  his  respects  to  you. 

"  I  only  hope  that  you  may  see  your  way  clear 
to  return  with  him  for  a  visit,  which  would  bring 
you  here  in  time  for  our  sweet  corn  season  and 
the  autumn  colouring. 

"  My  wife's  recipe  for  strawberry  shortcake  is 
enclosed,  and  if  strawberries  are  still  in  season 
with  you  it  is  possible  for  you  to  enjoy  this 
American  institution  at  home.  I  shall  send  you 
another  Virginia  ham  in  the  autumn,  unless  you 
will  come  to  fetch  it  youself. 

"  With  my  regards  to  your  Mrs.  Sanford,  in 
which  my  Mrs.  Sanford  joins,  I  am, 
"  Sincerely  yours, 

"  FRANKLIN  SANFORD. 

"  P.  S.  I  think  you  will  find  that  our  Philip  has 
a  sense  both  of  humour  and  of  proportion.  If 
there  be  any  fault  to  his  manners,  they  come  from 
his  father  and  not  his  mother,  who  has  done  her 
best  to  bring  us  both  up  properly." 

The  Reverend  Arthur,  of  England,  was  about 
the  sixteenth  cousin  of  the  Reverend  Franklin. 


H  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Of  course  the  progenitor  of  the  family  came  over 
with  William  the  Conqueror,  whose  transports 
seem  to  have  been  as  overcrowded  as  the  May 
flower.  But  this  did  not  concern  Philip,  particu 
larly  not  while  he  was  in  Mexico. 

"  You  may  meet  two  other  cousins,  the  Ribots," 
said  Dr.  Sanford,  "  younger  and  more  interesting 
to  you,  perhaps,  than  the  vicar  of  Truckleford." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  something  about  them." 
Philip  was  more  hazy  than  ever  about  genealogy 
since  he  had  been  in  the  Southwest.  "  Girls,  and 
about  my  age,  aren't  they?  " 

1  Yes.  Henriette  is  about  two  years  and 
Helen  one  year  younger  than  you.  They  have 
French,  English,  and  American  blood.  One  of 
their  grandfathers  was  French  and  the  other 
English,  which  is  where  the  Sanford  comes  in, 
and  one  of  the  grandmothers  was  an  American, 
on  their  mother's  side,  and  married  a  Frenchman. 
They  live  in  France  and  are  very  French.  You 
will  find  the  vicar  of  Truckleford  very  English." 

"  That,  I  believe,  is  a  characteristic  of  the 
English!"  said  Phil. 

"  You  will  have  a  chance  to  see  a  real  English 
home.  It  was  June  when  I  was  there,  too." 

Dr.  Sanford  fell  into  reminiscence  about  his 
own  trip  of  thirty  years  ago,  until  he  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  arrival  of  Phil's  trunk. 

"  In  the  guest  room,"  said  the  mother,  coming 
in  from  the  kitchen. 


A  HOME-COMING  15 

"My  own  old  room!"  urged  Phil,  and  she 
capitulated  joyously. 

Her  call  came  up  the  stairs  when  dinner  was 
ready  as  it  had  a  thousand  times.  The  cloth 
was  laid  on  the  side  veranda,  with  the  setting  sun 
their  candelabra  and  their  champagne  the  rare 
New  England  air,  which  makes  one  live  an  hour 
in  a  minute.  It  is  not  for  history  to  say  how 
much  shortcake  Phil  ate.  Jane  wondered  if  he 
had  had  anything  to  eat  all  the  time  he  had 
been  away.  He  and  his  mother  did  the  talking, 
while  Dr.  Sanford  listened.  The  twilight  still 
held  when  a  motor  came  up  the  drive. 

"  Peter!  I  was  sure  he'd  call  as  soon  as  he 
heard  you  were  here,"  said  the  mother. 

The  nervous  little  man  who  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  house  gave  every  sign  of  surprise 
at  seeing  Philip,  though  his  dry,  "Back,  eh?" 
as  he  shook  hands  with  Phil  was  hardly  effusive. 
But  Peter  was  not  given  to  effusion  about  any 
thing  except  his  own  projects,  and  they  were  so 
interesting  that  he  could  never  change  the  sub 
ject.  He  was  off  about  the  clubhouse  as  soon  as 
he  sat  down,  directing  his  talking  to  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Sanford  and  quite  overlooking  Phil's 
presence. 

"  System  is  the  great  thing,  system  without 
sentiment!"  he  began,  in  his  pet  phrase;  "sys 
tematic  economy  of  space,  time,  energy,  and 
money,  which  means  more  money.  Got  the 


1 6  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

question  of  baths  settled  for  my  clubhouse. 
Showers — no  waste,  no  favouritism.  You  put 
two  cents  in  the  slot  and  you  get  three  quarts  hot 
for  soaping  and  another  cent  and  you  get  three 
gallons  cold  for  shower.  Those  that  don't  want 
to  soap  pay  only  one  cent.  Get  it?  Those  that 
take  only  the  cold  don't  have  to  pay  for  heating 
for  the  others.  Everybody  pays  for  what  he 
gets — justice,  equality,  democracy,  and  the  square 
deal  for  all.  Those  that  don't  bathe  often  can 
put  in  another  two  cents  and  get  six  quarts  for 
soaping,  without  sponging  on  the  fellows  that 
bathe  every  day.  Anybody  that  wants  to  remain 
dirty — individual  rights  respected.  Took  the 
idea  to  one  of  those  scientific  socialist  professors 
and  he  thought  it  was  all  right,  only,  so  far  as  I 
could  make  out  from  his  rigmarole,  he  thought 
the  State  ought  to  put  the  cents  in  the  slot  and 
the  employers  earn  the  cents  for  the  State.  I 
told  him  Peter  Smithers  wasn't  any  socialist;  he 
didn't  believe  in  a  pap-fed  proletariat.  Now, 
take  another  thing — I  tell  you  I'm  giving  a  lot 
of  thought  to  this " 

"  Have  you  laid  the  cornerstone  of  the  club 
house  yet?"  Phil  asked. 

"  Young  man,  if  you  knew  me  well  you'd  know 
I  never  go  off  half-cocked.  If  they  don't  raise 
the  tariff  there  won't  be  any  cents  to  put  in  the 
slots.  I'll  have  to  close  the  works.  Hear  you're 
going  to  Europe?  Hear  they've  promoted  you 


A  HOME-COMING  17 

and  brought  you  to  the  New  York  office  ?  "  he 
inquired  more  affably,  as  if  something  were 
due  to  Phil,  whom  he  had  regarded  sharply, 
without  pretending  to,  in  intervals  between 
sentences. 

"  And  he  showed  how  willing  he  was  to  begin 
at  the  bottom  by  what  do  you  think? — by  clean 
ing  out  cattle  cars!  "  put  in  Mrs.  Sanford,  striv 
ing  for  reconciliation. 

"  I  thought  he  would  have  to  come  off  his  high 
horse  before  he  could  earn  a  living,"  Peter  replied, 
feeling  himself  vindicated. 

"  No,  it's  a  part  of  the  initiation,"  said  Phil 
softly,  "  for  youngsters  who  are  taken  on  by  that 
railroad  after  they  leave  college.  I  expected  it 
and  I've  had  my  revenge  by  setting  other  gradu 
ate  engineers  at  it  myself.  And,  Uncle  Peter," 
Phil  was  smiling  and  showing  a  row  of  well-set 
teeth  through  his  tan,  "  let's  you  and  I  understand 
each  other  and  be  friends.  Perhaps  you  think 
that  I  sometimes  think  that  you'll  leave  your 
fortune  to  me.  I  know  that  you  will  not.  Of 
course,  I  should  like  it,  but  there's  no  reason  why 
you  should  give  it  to  me  more  than  to  any  one 
else.  All  I  ask  is  an  invitation  to  the  clubhouse 
when  it's  dedicated.  Why,  if  I  had  gone  to  work 
for  you  I  might  have  been  thinking  that  I  might 
inherit  something  and  you  might  have  known 
I  was  thinking  that,  which  would  have  been  most 
uncomfortable  for  both  of  us.  Then  if  the  tariff 


1 8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

had  ruined  the  business  and  you  had  lost  every 
thing,  consider  how  disappointed  I  would  be  and 
what  heartbreak  the  knowledge  of  my  disappoint 
ment  would  be  to  you  in  your  poverty!  " 

Peter  grew  red  during  a  silence  which  was 
broken  by  the  sound  of  a  chuckle.  Evidently  Dr. 
Sanford  had  seen  something  in  the  garden  that 
amused  him,  for  he  was  looking  in  that  direction. 
Mrs.  Sanford  was  aghast. 

"  Of  all  the  nerve !  "  exclaimed  Peter.  "  I  tell 
you  I'm  not  used  to  having  anybody  talk  to  me 
that  way !  It's  a  d " 

"Go  ahead,  Peter!"  remarked  Dr.  Sanford 
suavely.  "  It's  just  as  bad  to  think  it.  If  you 
say  one  hard  you  may  not  have  a  dozen  pent-up 
ones  against  you  on  Judgment  Day." 

"  There  seems  no  pleasing  you!  "  Peter  blurted 
incontinently  to  Phil. 

'  Then  do  you  want  me  to  hover  about  and  play 
the  good  young  man  and  agree  with  everything 
you  say,  hoping  you  will  mention  me  in  your 
will?" 

"  I — I  want  you  to  shut  up !  "  snapped  Peter. 
"  Or,  you  can  keep  on  talking  if  you  want  to, 
as  it's  time  for  me  to  go !  "  and  he  took  his 
injured  dignity  down  the  walk  to  his  waiting  car. 

After  he  had  gone  Dr.  Sanford  gave  his  chuckle 
such  full  vent  that  it  broke  into  an  explosion  little 
short  of  a  snort. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  something  of  the  anarchist 


A  HOME-COMING  19 

in  me,"  he  said;  "but  I  confess  to  liking  to  see 
a  self-conscious,  self-made  millionaire  a  trifle 
miserable,  without,  I  trust,  in  the  least  compromis 
ing  my  standing  as  a  good  Christian." 

"  Peter  was  certainly  funny,"  assented  Mrs. 
Sanford,  smiling  now. 

Then  they  forget  Peter,  these  three.  They 
forget  everything  but  the  fact  that  they  were 
together.  The  detail  of  their  talk  Phil  could 
hardly  have  recollected  the  next  day,  but  every 
sentence  of  it  came  to  him  when  he  was  pros 
trate  in  that  noiseless  and  sightless  world  in 
France. 

After  the  proud  old  pair  were  under  the  cover 
lets  that  night  their  theme  was  the  same  that  it 
had  been  a  thousand  times.  Following  generations 
of  professors,  doctors,  and  lawyers  had  come 
the  man  of  action.  Philip  had  succeeded  out  in 
that  forbidding  world  of  business  and  strife : 
this  was  the  wonderful  thing  to  them. 

"  He's  changed,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Three  years  older,"  said  the  father.  u  The 
world  has  humanised  him,  made  him  fonder  of 
us." 

"  And  didn't  you  think  that  he  looked  more 
like  our  ancestor?"  Mrs.  Sanford  always  re 
ferred  to  the  man  in  the  square  as  "  ours." 

"  Yes,  the  old  blood.  Action  reappears  and 
likeness  of  feature.  What  relation  are  those  two 
Ribot  girls?  I  was  trying  to  think." 


20  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  About  seventeenth,"  said  Mrs.  Sanford 
dreamily. 

"  What  a  lot  of  cousins  they  would  make  if 
they  all  stood  in  a  row!  "  mused  Dr.  Sanford. 


CHAPTER  II 

TWO    GIRLS    ON    A    TRAIN 

HIS  object  being  to  see  England  and  not  to 
become  a  member  of  the  menagerie  of 
home    types    in    a    pile    overlooking   the 
Thames  Embankment,  the  hotel  that  Philip  had 
chosen  was  a  small  one,  where  a  truly  English 
headwaiter,   who   was   not   trying  to   conceal   a 
German  accent,  treated  him  with  a  lofty  courtesy 
and  his  bath  was  brought  by  a  maid  instead  of 
by  the  labour-saving  device  of  pipes. 

"  You  rise  very  early,"  said  the  young  woman 
in  black  at  the  desk. 

'  The  King  did  not  know  that  I  was  coming 
and  I  do  just  as  I  please,"  Phil  replied;  and  she 
unbent  a  little  from  her  dignity  and  almost 
laughed. 

Against  the  criterion  of  all  sniffy  people  who 
talk  of  how  many  times  they  have  been  abroad, 
which  sometimes  means  only  a  journey  from  the 
London  to  the  Paris  and  the  Paris  to  the  Berlin 
menageries,  he  was  frankly  one  of  the  horde 
of  tourists,  rising  at  dawn  to  make  sightseeing  a 
diligent  business,  who  are  assiduously  cultivated 
by  shopkeepers  if  somewhat  neglected  by  the 

21 


22  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

nobility.  When  he  moved  on  the  Tower,  West 
minster  Abbey,  or  Oxford,  he  made  no  attempt 
to  conceal  his  red  guidebook.  He  was  at  home 
with  schoolmistresses  from  the  Middle  West 
doing  a  schedule  on  a  set  sum  or  with  the  wealthy 
acquaintance  he  had  made  on  board  ship  who 
took  him  for  a  motor  ride  to  Canterbury. 

Now  he  was  on  the  way  to  Truckleford  to 
spend  the  night,  in  response  to  the  invitation  of 
the  sixteenth  degree  cousin.  Up  to  the  moment 
of  starting  he  thought  that  he  should  have  the 
compartment  to  himself,  when  two  young  women 
appeared,  both  a  trifle  short  of  breath.  So  im 
pressionable  a  tourist  as  himself  could  not  fail 
to  notice  that  the  one  who  entered  first  was 
strikingly  good-looking,  a  girl  with  a  quality  of 
manner  and  dress  which  he  associated  with  the 
Continent,  though  he  had  never  been  there. 

"  We  caught  it,  at  any  rate !  "  she  gasped, 
dropping  into  a  seat. 

"Just  about!"  said  the  other,  who  was  as 
distinctly  plain  at  first  glance  as  the  other  was 
attractive.  "  But  your  run  has  given  you  a  lovely 
colour!"  she  added  admiringly.  If  the  one 
wished  to  be  shown  up  by  contrast  for  her  beauty 
and  the  other  for  her  plainness,  they  had  an 
object  in  travelling  together. 

"  My  hair  must  be  in  a  shocking  state,  though," 
said  the  beautiful  one,  as  Phil  already  designated 
her  in  his  mind. 


TWO  GIRLS  ON  A  TRAIN          23 

She  drew  a  mirror  from  her  bag,  not  to  look  at 
her  colouring,  of  course,  but  to  arrange  a  few 
strands  of  hair.  Turning  her  head  this  way  and 
that,  she  attended  to  the  disarray  due  to  her  haste 
in  dressing  perhaps,  as  well  as  to  her  rush  for 
the  train.  If  a  woman's  hand  and  arm  and  the 
particular  way  she  holds  her  fingers  when  she 
shepherds  strands  of  hair  were  more  awkward, 
possibly  fewer  strands  would  need  attention  in 
public.  There  is  something  confidential  in  these 
quick  fondling  movements  which  have  drawn  a 
reader's  eyelashes  above  the  margin  of  a  news 
paper  many  millions  of  times.  This  girl  made 
it  an  unusually  graceful  and  leisurely  function; 
and  once,  when  her  glance  met  Phil's,  it  seemed 
not  to  see  that  any  person  was  opposite  to  her, 
yet  it  said :  "  I  know  that  others  are  not  displeased 
with  what  I  see  in  the  mirror;  then  why  should 
I  be?" 

The  plain  girl  also  had  some  riotously  stray 
strands  of  hair,  but  they  did  not  concern  her. 
It  was  not  for  her  to  find  friendliness  in  mirrors. 

"  Here  I  am  riding  the  way  that  the  train  is 
going  when  I  like  the  other  way!  "  she  said,  jump 
ing  up.  "  Let  us  change  places." 

*  You  dear  mouse  !  You're  always  so  thought 
ful!  "  said  the  other  beautiful  one,  complying. 

Now  she  was  facing  Phil.  Reminded  that  the 
suburbs  of  London  were  so  uninteresting  that 
he  might  be  caught  staring  at  a  face  short  of  the 


24  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

window  instead  of  looking  out  it,  he  began  to 
read  his  paper  diligently.  When  they  had  left 
the  chimney  pots  behind,  he  found  that  the  plain 
one's  objection  to  riding  the  way  that  the  train 
was  going  apparently  no  longer  applied;  for  she 
crossed  over  in  a  sudden,  impulsive  movement 
which  seemed  characteristic  of  a  restless  nature 
and  with  a  sweeping  gesture  out  of  the  window 
began  talking  of  familiar  landmarks. 

Evidently  both  had  been  long  absent  from 
England,  which  was  not  their  home.  They  mixed 
French  with  English  in  that  bi-lingual  facility 
which  does  not  mean  an  interlarding  of  words  but 
bursts  of  sentences.  They  criticised  and  com 
pared  what  they  saw  with  the  Continent,  and 
of  the  two  the  plain  one  seemed  to  get  more  en 
thusiasm  out  of  their  return. 

Having  both  faces  in  the  tail  of  his  eye,  Phil 
wondered  why  the  plain  one  should  ever  want  to 
travel  in  the  other's  company.  He  drifted  into  a 
comparative  analysis  of  the  two :  The  one  with 
her  masses  of  black  hair,  her  small  forehead,  her 
luminous  eyes,  straight  nose  and  expressive 
mouth,  with  its  full  lips  and  the  oval  chin — a 
classic  type  of  its  kind;  the  other  with  chestnut 
hair  also  in  masses,  but  brushed  unbecomingly 
back  from  the  high,  broad  forehead,  the  large, 
black-brown  eyes  wide  apart,  a  squarish  chin  and 
a  lump  of  a  nose.  Yet  analysed  there  was  a 
resemblance ;  the  genius  touch  of  a  sculptor  might 


TWO  GIRLS  ON  A  TRAIN          25 

have  transformed  one  face  if  it  were  plastic  into 
the  other.  The  features  of  one  made  an  en 
semble;  those  of  the  other  were  assertively  in 
rebellion  with  one  another. 

But  the  amazing  likeness  was  in  the  voices. 
Closing  his  eyes,  Phil  had  difficulty  in  telling 
which  one  of  the  two  was  speaking.  Both  voices 
were  pleasant,  though  the  beautiful  girl's  voice 
seemed  much  the  pleasanter  of  the  two  when  his 
eyes  were  open  and  the  plain  one's  an  imita 
tion. 

He  thought  he  should  like  to  get  acquainted, 
but  he  had  not  the  courage.  He  could  not  offer 
them  papers  or  magazines  when  evidently  they 
were  not  in  a  mood  to  read.  Besides,  that  sort 
of  thing  is  not  done  in  England,  or,  for  that, 
matter,  in  America,  as  a  rule,  on  short  train 
journeys.  Except  for  that  one  glance  from  the 
beautiful  one,  which  was  to  any  human  being 
in  sight  as  an  audience,  he  had  no  sign  that  they 
recognised  that  there  was  any  one  else  in  the 
compartment. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  in  Truckleford  again, 
shan't  you?"  asked  the  plain  girl. 

"Of  course  I  shall!  I  can  see  Uncle  Arthur 
waiting  on  the  platform  for  us  now." 

"  And  hear  him  say  Henriette,  my  dear,  and 
Helen,  my  dear!  " 

Then  they  were  surprised  by  the  young  man  op 
posite  them  declaring  that  he  must  be  about  their 


26  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

seventeenth  degree  cousin  and  that  he  was  going 
to  Truckleford,  too. 

"Really!"  they  exclaimed  together. 

He  might  have  known  what  they  would  say. 
He  had  wondered  if  Americans  used  guess  as 
often  as  the  English  use  really.  There  are  many 
kinds  of  reallys :  forbidding,  surprised,  sceptical, 
inquiring.  This  was  all  kinds.  It  was  also  the 
kind  that  leaves  the  next  move  with  the  other 
person. 

"  That  is,  if  the  Reverend  Arthur  Sanford,  of 
Truckleford,"  Phil  explained,  "  is  my  sixteenth 
cousin  and  you  are  Henriette  and  Helen  Ribot, 
and  my  father,  the  Reverend  Franklin  Sanford, 
of  Longfield,  Massachusetts,  has  reckoned  ac 
curately." 

"  It  sounds  very  mathematical,"  said  Helen, 
the  plain  one,  thoughtfully,  looking  toward 
Henriette  to  take  the  lead,  which  she  did  charm 
ingly. 

"  We've  heard  about  you,  Cousin  Philip  San 
ford,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  were  sparkling 
into  his  in  a  way  that  made  it  difficult  to  look 
away;  "  let  us  consider  ourselves  introduced." 

There  was  a  touch  of  the  grand  manner  about 
the  way  she  did  this;  in  part  it  was  mischievous, 
her  eyes  said.  But  she  did  it  delightfully,  and 
Helen,  who  held  out  her  hand  in  turn,  seemed 
plainer  than  ever.  But  she  arrested  his  attention 
with  her  remark: 


TWO  GIRLS  ON  A  TRAIN          27 

"  I  had  a  suspicion  that  it  was  you  all  the 
time." 

"Why?" 

'  You'll  see,  later."  He  was  conscious  of  a 
closer  scrutiny  of  his  features,  and  she  added 
triumphantly:  "  Yes,  you'll  see,  later." 

Then  she  sank  back  on  the  cushions.  When 
seventeenth  cousin  meets  seventeenth  cousin  for 
the  first  time  there  is  enough  to  say.  Helen  looked 
from  one  to  the  other,  listening.  It  seemed  her 
natural  role.  Phil  almost  forgot  her  existence 
until  the  train  stopped  at  Truckleford  and  they 
stepped  down  on  the  station  platform  to  be  wel 
comed  by  an  elderly  clergyman. 

"Taller  than  your  father!  I  like  the  San- 
fords  to  be  tall,"  he  said  to  Phil.  "  And,  Hen- 
riette,  now  I  have  you  I'll  not  let  you  go  all 
summer.  You  can  do  your  painting  here."  He 
gave  her  a  fond  glance.  "  And  you,  Helen, 
you  will  have  to  stay  if  Henriette  stays." 


CHAPTER   III 

AN  INVITATION 

THE  tea-table,  a  damask  moon  on  the  lawn 
of  the  vicarage,  was  laid  awaiting  their 
arrival  and  the  white-haired  woman  who 
presided  welcomed  Phil  with  the  simple  cordiality 
of  a  near  relative. 

"  You  don't  have  afternoon  tea  in  America, 
I  believe?  "  she  said. 

"  Please  pour  me  a  cup  and  see  an  American 
in  England  make  a  brave  effort,"  Phil  said. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Truckleford?  Is 
it  like  what  you  imagined?"  she  asked. 

He  had  a  more  definite  impression  of  Henri- 
ette,  who  had  told  him  about  the  village  as  they 
walked  from  the  station,  than  of  the  village 
itself.  It  seemed  to  him  like  any  other  English 
village. 

'  The  great  thing  is  that  my  ancestors  came 
from  here,"  he  said.  "  I  have  wondered  what 
the  place  was  like  and  what  they  were  like.  My 
father  had  given  such  rosy  descriptions  of  every 
thing  that  I  was  afraid  I  might  'be  disappointed. 
But  both  of  you  and  the  vicarage  and  the  garden 

28 


AN  INVITATION  29 

and  the  church  are  just  as  I  wanted  you  and  them 
to  be.  It's  like  home." 

The  vicar  and  his  wife  exchanged  glances  of 
satisfaction.  They  were  not  displeased  with  the 
frank  American  cousin. 

"  We  come  to  serious  matters,"  said  the 
vicar.  "  I  passed  the  recipe  for  strawberry 
shortcake  which  your  father  sent  over  to  my 
wife.  There  my  part  ends.  I  wait  for  her  to 
report." 

"  Cook  has  the  recipe,"  said  Mrs.  Sanford. 
"  I  am  not  responsible  for  results." 

"  Nor  I,"  Phil  said,  "  unless  I  assist  in  pick 
ing  the  berries.  Have  they  been  picked  yet?  " 

"  Not  yet,  I  think." 

"  I'll  bring  the  basket,"  said  Helen  Ribot. 
"  We'll  all  help,  if  that  is  allowed." 

"  You  wouldn't  fully  appreciate  it  if  you  did 
not  help,"  Phil  assured  her. 

"  No,  I'll  bring  the  basket,"  Henriette  insisted. 
"If  one  did  not  watch  you  you'd  never  let  any 
one  do  anything  for  one's  self." 

"  I  foresee  a  success,"  said  Phil. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  auspices  more  than 
of  the  cook's  part  as  he  watched  Henriette  pass 
around  the  corner  of  the  house.  When  she 
reappeared  his  glance  happened  to  be  resting 
on  the  same  spot.  She  stopped,  waving  her  hand 
in  a  way  that  let  the  sleeve  fall  back  from  the 
graceful  forearm  to  signify  that  she  was  ready, 


30  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

most  enchantingly  ready,  for  the  strawberry  short 
cake  adventure. 

"Isn't  she  beautiful!"  Helen  exclaimed. 
"  Aren't  you  proud  of  your  seventeenth  cousin?  " 

"  Helen!  "  admonished  Mrs.  Sanford.  "  You 
must  not  say  such  things." 

"  Oh,  but  I  agree,  quite  enthusiastically!  "  said 
Phil. 

He  had  no  reason  to  change  his  mind  as  he 
assisted  her  in  picking  the  berries,  an  operation 
which  brought  his  head  so  close  to  hers  that  one 
of  the  strands  of  her  hair  brushed  his  cheek.  Her 
quick  gesture  restoring  the  truant  to  place  pro 
longed  the  thrill  that  had  proceeded  from  the 
point  of  contact,  with  an  intimation  of  self-con 
sciousness  on  her  part  as  well  as  on  his.  Helen 
was  picking,  too,  but  always  on  the  other  side  of 
the  basket.  At  length  she  left  off  in  order  to 
answer  questions  about  her  mother  and  affairs 
at  home  in  France,  which  Mrs.  Sanford  had  fore- 
borne  asking  at  tea. 

When  the  basket  was  filled  the  vicar  planned 
to  show  Phil  the  graves  of  his  ancestors  in  the 
little  churchyard,  but  Henriette  forestalled  him 
with  the  suggestion  that  the  younger  generation 
take  a  walk  before  dinner. 

"Aren't  you  coming?"  she  called  to  Helen 
as  she  started  toward  the  gate  with  Phil. 

"  No.  I'll  stay  with  uncle  and  aunt,"  said 
Helen  hesitatingly. 


AN  INVITATION  31 

"  Seventeenth  cousins  from  America  don't  ap 
pear  often,"  Phil  put  in,  perhaps  a  bit  luke 
warmly. 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  please,  that's  a  good  mouse !  "  urged 
Heinriette. 

"  No !  "  said  Helen,  a  sharpness  in  her  voice 
unlike  Heinriette's  now  and  a  flash  of  what 
seemed  pent-up  irritation  in  her  eyes. 

It  was  not  an  agreeable  exhibition,  Phil  thought. 
But  Henriette  smiled  as  if  accustomed  to  such 
outbreaks,  explaining  in  an  aside : 

"  Train-riding  always  tires  her.  You  mustn't 
mind  her  abruptness.  She  has  more  fire,  is  more 
French,  than  I  am." 

They  had  gone  only  a  few  steps  when  Helen 
ran  after  them.  She  was  flushed,  with  a  singular, 
penitent  look  in  her  eyes,  and  the  voice  of  Hen 
riette  might  have  been  continuing  softly  as  she 
said  : 

"  Please,  I  didn't  mean  to  be  tempery.  But  I 
had  planned  to  do  something  and  I'll  arrange  the 
flowers  for  the  table." 

"  You  are  always  together,  quite  inseparable, 
you  and  Helen,"  said  Phil,  after  they  were 
through  the  gate. 

"  Yes.  Isn't  it  lucky  to  have  a  sister  only  a 
year  apart  from  you?  "  said  Henriette.  "  We're 
quite  different,  but  surely  you've  noted  the  re 
semblance  in  our  voices.  I  have  tried  to  change 


32  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

mine  and  she  has  tried  to  change  hers,  for  there 
was  something  uncanny  about  it,  but  neither  of  us 
could  quite.  It's  been  a  greater  cross  to  mother 
than  to  us,  though  I  can't  see,  why  when  we  are 
so  different  in  other  ways,  can  you?  " 

He  could  not  when  Henriette's  wonderful  eyes 
were  putting  the  question  to  him  at  the  same 
time  as  her  lips,  in  a  way  that  made  the  difference 
a  contrast. 

"  I'll  show  you  my  favourite  walk,"  she  said. 

It  took  them  into  a  lane  and  on  high  ground, 
where  the  village  lay  nestling  at  their  feet,  a 
greyish  patch  in  the  pattern-work  of  hedges.  The 
beauty  of  the  landscape  to  him  was  in  its  sugges 
tion,  no  less  than  in  its  appeal  to  the  eye.  Many 
generations  of  men  had  laid  their  bones  in  this 
earth  after  having  given  it  their  strength  in 
return  for  life. 

"  I  understand  how  that  first  Sanford  who 
went  across  the  water  on  that  adventure  which 
took  rare  courage  in  those  days,"  said  Phil, 
"  harked  back  to  this  scene  which  was  bred 
in  his  blood,  and  how  other  scenes  in  other 
climates  became  bred  in  the  blood  of  his  grand 
sons." 

"  It  is  much  as  our  ancestors  saw  it,  I  fancy," 
Henriette  said.  "  I'm  bred  into  it  somewhat,  but 
more  into  France." 

"  A  little  into  America,  too,"  he  suggested. 
"  You  have  some  American  blood." 


AN  INVITATION  33 

She  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  then  looked 
up  at  him  brightly. 

"Perhaps.  Why  not?  Though  I've  never 
been  to  America.  There  is  a  walk  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  our  chateau  at  Mervaux  which  I 
should  like  to  show  you.  I'm  fonder  of  it  than 
of  this,  I  confess." 

u  And  I've  a  favourite  walk  I  should  like  to 
show  you  in  the  Berkshires,"  he  said. 

"  A  seventeenth  cousin  reunion  in  walks,  is 
that  it?  "  She  was  smiling  at  her  own  suggestion 
with  a  confidential  nod. 

"Bully!" 

"  No,  you  should  say  ripping  in  England. 
Bully  is  an  American  vulgarism,  Cousin  Phil." 

"Ripping!" 

They  broke  out  laughing  at  this,  and  the  best 
feature  of  her  laughter  was  the  persistent  radi 
ance  in  her  eyes.  A  passing  labourer  who  noted 
the  pair  silhouetted  against  the  skyline  thought: 

"  Life  is  sweet  to  them — youth  and  good 
looks." 

She  returned  to  the  subject  of  walks. 

"  Before  we  consider  the  one  in  the  Berk- 
shires,"  she  said,  "  you're  not  returning  to 
America  without  coming  to  France  to  see  us,  are 
you?" 

He  had  carefully  allotted  every  day  of  his  time 
abroad,  which  did  not  include  any  visit  to 


34  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Mervaux.  But  when  the  allotment  was  made 
he  had  not  met  the  seventeenth  cousins. 

"  You  can  be  properly  at  home  and  watch 
Helen  draw  or  me  paint,"  she  went  on.  "  Helen 
musses  about  with  charcoals  and  I  with  oils.  You 
will  see  what  life  is  like  in  the  French  country. 
Mother  will  write  inviting  you.  Will  you 
come?  " 

Her  glance  was  cousinly  and  insistent.  The 
glance  did  it.  He  decided  that  he  would  cut  out 
Vienna  and  go  to  Mervaux  for  the  second  week 
in  August  of  that  year,  1914. 


CHAPTER   IV 

TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR 

"  T  T  ELEN's  temper  again!  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Sanford  to  her  husband,  after  Helen's 
outburst. 

"  Sometimes  I  do  not  wonder  that  Helen  has 
a  temper,"  said  the  vicar. 

"  But  when  a  girl  is  as  plain  as  she  is,  really 
it  is  the  one  thing  she  should  avoid,"  persisted 
his  wife. 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  bad  policy,  when  Hen- 
riette  has  all  the  good  looks  and  the  money," 
he  replied. 

Helen  had  now  turned  toward  them  and  Phil 
and  Henriette  were  going  through  the  gateway. 
Mrs.  Sanford  drew  a  deep  breath  as  one  will 
who  is  about  to  undertake  a  duty  and  means  to 
approach  it  softly. 

"  Did  you  give  up  your  idea  of  becoming  a 
nurse,  Helen?"  she  asked  casually. 

It  drew  another  flash  from  Helen's  eyes,  ac 
companied  by  a  shudder  of  repugnance. 

"  I  couldn't.  I  don't  like  the  horror  of  it — 
seeing  people  cut  up  and  everything!  I  knew 
I  ought  to  and  mother  thinks  I  ought  to;  but  I've 

35 


3  6  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

delayed  because  I Oh,  I  know  what  you're 

thinking!  "  She  stopped  and  shook  several  rebel 
lious  strands  of  hair  free  with  a  sudden  move 
ment  of  her  head. 

Gentle  Mrs.  Sanford  let  her  hands  drop  into 
her  lap,  lowering  her  head  in  the  relief  of  one 
who  has  tried  and  failed. 

"  Sorry!  "  Helen's  attitude  had  quite  changed. 
She  kissed  her  aunt  on  the  cheek.  "  I  have  an 
awful  temper,  haven't  I  ?  "  Her  change  of  mood 
had  been  reflected  by  her  irregular  features  with 
singular  expressiveness.  "  I  was  going  to  ar 
range  the  flowers  for  the  table  for  our  seventeenth 
cousin  and  also — do  you  think  cook  would  let  me  ? 
— try  my  hand  at  the  American  shortcake  thing. 
I  learned  how  to  cook  from  Jacqueline.  I'd 
rather  be  a  cook  than  a  nurse,  if  worse  comes 
to  worse.  Cooks  get  very  good  pay." 

"Helen!  Shocking!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  San- 
ford.  Many  gentlewomen  were  nurses.  "  You'll 
have  to  bargain  with  cook  about  the  shortcake," 
she  added. 

"  Didn't  his  mother  make  it  back  in  Massa 
chusetts?  Why  not  Helen  of  Mervaux,  if  not 
Helen  of  Troy,  in  Hampshire?  Cry  Harry, 
England  and  St.  George  !  In  the  name  of  Liberte, 
Egalite,  Fraternitc,  allonsf" 

She  was  off  to  the  kitchen,  whose  monarch  said, 
in  language  of  her  own,  that  the  way  to  eat  straw 
berries  was  with  their  stems  on  and  dipping  them 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  37 

in  sugar,  or  else  as  jam.  In  either  case  they  had 
no  relation  to  cake,  and  she  was  not  taking  cook 
ing  lessons  from  foreign  countries. 

"  In  other  words,  '  it's  not  done,'  oh,  Eng 
land!  "  said  Helen. 

"  Whatever  you  mean  by  that,"  began  cook. 

"  It  should  be  on  British  coats-of-arms  in 
stead  of  Dieu  et  mon  Droit,"  Helen  explained, 
without  in  the  least  explaining  to  cook.  "  I  mean, 
I  take  the  responsibility  off  your  shoulders.  If 
the  American  is  poisoned  I  go  to  the  gallows." 

"  Oh,  very  well !  "  agreed  cook,  as  if  convinced 
that  a  fatal  result  was  inevitable  but  satisfied  if 
her  alibi  were  safely  established. 

Helen  went  to  the  task  with  a  confident  hand, 
while  cook  looked  on  with  the  same  scorn  that 
she  would  have  regarded  the  introduction  of  poi 
or  birds'  nest  soup  into  that  loyal  British  house 
hold.  Her  task  well  under  way,  Helen  returned 
to  the  garden  to  pick  flowers  for  the  table,  the 
while  humming  French  songs.  She  had  finished 
with  the  flowers  when  Mrs.  Sanford  entered  the 
dining-room  to  find  her  with  her  fingers  outspread 
on  the  cloth,  resting  half  her  weight  on  them  and 
looking  at  one  of  the  family  portraits  on  the  wall. 

"Still  in  love  with  your  ancestor,  Helen?" 
asked  her  aunt. 

Helen  was  startled  back  from  the  seventeenth 
to  the  twentieth  century. 

"  Yes.     I'm  coming  in  here  after  dark  and 


38  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

teach  him  to  fall  in  love  with  me.  He's  the  only 
man  who  ever  will.  Being  three  hundred  years 
old  he  might  take  me  because  of  my  youth." 

"  My  dear,  where  do  you  get  all  your  strange 
ideas?" 

"  I  wonder  if  he  would  like  the  strawberry 
shortcake  thing?  "  Helen  continued.  "  I'm  sure 
he  liked  rum  and  took  snuff  and  swore.  And 
you'll  please  not  to  tell  the  seventeenth  cousin 
that  I  made  the  cake.  I  take  no  risks." 

The  ring  of  her  laugh  remained  in  the  room 
after  she  had  returned  to  the  kitchen.  Helen 
was  never  more  puzzling  to  her  aunt  than  when 
she  laughed;  for  then  she  was  most  French,  and 
Mrs.  Sanford  ascribed  much  in  Helen  to  Gallic 
inheritance. 

"Poor  dear!"  thought  her  aunt.  She  was 
always  thinking  "Poor  dear!"  but  she  seldom 
gave  voice  to  it — not  in  Helen's  presence.  It  was 
the  sure  match  to  her  temper.  She  would  not 
bear  to  be  "  poor  deared,"  as  she  called  it,  even 
by  Henriette.  Now  Mrs.  Sanford  herself  was 
regarding  the  portrait  intently,  and  her  husband 
entering  joined  her  in  its  study. 

"  You  see  the  likeness,  too?"  she  asked,  with 
a  thrill  of  pride. 

"  The  moment  he  alighted  at  the  station.  We'll 
seat  him  under  it  at  dinner — a  plot!"  said  the 
vicar,  smiling,  and  he  caught  her  hand  in  his  in 
a  way  that  would  have  been  pleasant  to  an  ob- 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  39 

server.  But  if  there  had  been  an  observer  it 
would  not  have  happened. 

Voices  were  heard  on  the  lawn  and  they  looked 
out  to  see  Phil  and  Henriette  returning.  His 
American  accent  which  had  sounded  strange  at 
first  grew  attractive  to  Mrs.  Sanford.  She  her 
self  showed  him  to  his  room  to  make  sure  that 
everything  was  right.  The  hot  water  "  can,"  as 
he  would  have  called  it,  was  standing  in  the  wash 
basin  covered  with  a  towel  to  retain  the  heat. 
His  bag  was  unpacked  and  his  toilet  articles 
were  laid  out. 

"  The  maids  do  that  for  you  in  England?  "  he 
said. 

"  Don't  yours?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Not  Jane  in  a  thousand  years.  She  would 
regard  me  as  a  mollycoddle  if  I  permitted  it. 
Sometimes  they  do  it  in  country  houses  which 
are  as  big  as  hotels  on  the  hills  outside  Long- 
field." 

"  Strange !  "  she  murmured. 

"  And  I  am  to  put  my  shoes,  I  mean  my  boots, 
outside  the  door  at  night?  "  he  asked. 

She  was  not  quite  certain  of  herself,  being  ap 
prehensive  of  some  American  joke  back  of  the 
question. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said. 

"  I'll  try,  though  it  is  going  to  give  my  Puritan 
conscience  a  twinge,"  he  said  drily.  "  I'll  try 
if  you  will  not  tell  Jane  when  you  come  to  visit 


40  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

us  in  America.  Whatever  happens,  I  mean  never 
to  lose  my  standing  with  Jane." 

She  laughed  without  understanding  why,  ex 
cept  that  she  was  liking  this  frank  American  cousin 
better  and  better.  Indeed,  the  glow  of  a  new 
emotion,  sounding  through  years  which  had  had 
their  omnipresent  sadness,  had  possessed  her  since 
she  had  looked  at  the  portrait  in  the  dining-room. 
The  cheer  of  it  was  in  her  voice  as  she  called 
outside  Henriette's  door  to  know  if  she  needed 
anything;  and  then  after  she  had  passed  Helen's 
door  she  remembered  Helen  and  called  to  her 
also. 

Henriette  made  a  leisurely  business  of  her  toilet 
before  the  mirror.  Why  shouldn't  she?  It  was 
merely  a  fit  expression  of  sincere  gratitude  for 
nature's  kindness.  She  might  enjoy  the  grace  of 
the  movement  of  her  fingers  in  caressing  expert- 
ness  around  the  face  that  she  saw  as  she  arranged 
her  hair. 

Helen  come  up  from  the  kitchen  with  a  blis 
tered  finger  and  her  cheeks  hot  from  the  oven 
heat,  saw  that  same  face  looking  back  at  her. 
Often  she  had  wished  for  some  magic  that  would 
show  a  new  one.  Plain  people,  she  thought,  ought 
at  least  to  have  a  change  of  plain  faces  for  vari 
ety's  sake.  If  others  were  as  tired  of  her  own  as 
she  was,  she  wondered  how  anybody  on  earth 
could  look  at  it  except  as  a  punishment. 

As  long  as  she  knew  that  her  face  was  clean, 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  41 

why  should  she  pay  any  attention  to  it?  She 
might  have  made  more  of  her  hair,  which  fell 
below  her  waist  in  abundant  glory;  but  if  she 
took  pains  with  it  she  had  that  face  in  front 
of  her  during  the  process.  So  she  ever  gave  her 
hair  a  hurried  doing  in  order  to  escape  enforced 
companionship  with  her  features.  To-night  they 
insisted  on  a  prolonged  glance  of  attention.  She 
made  a  grimace  which  was  reflected  back,  and  then 
she  laughed  at  the  reflection,  making  light  of  her 
self-consciousness,  only  to  become  more  self-con 
scious  and  blushing,  as  if  caught  in  a  secret.  For 
she  saw  that  she  was  at  her  best  when  she  laughed. 
Then  her  mobile  features,  including  the  lumpy 
nose,  made  harmony  with  the  beaming  mischief 
of  her  eyes  and  the  gleam  of  her  regular  teeth. 

"  If  I  wore  a  mask  over  my  nose  and  a  per 
petual  grin  I  might  be  an  advertisement  for  a 
dentist,  at  least!"  she  thought,  only  to  purse 
out  her  lips  in  a  "  Poof!  "  as  she  turned  away 
from  the  mirror.  Then  a  sigh,  whose  prolonga 
tion  apprised  her  of  its  existence  and  brought  a 
shrug  of  disgust.  The  next  impulse  turned  her 
to  some  charcoal  drawings  on  the  table — her  own 
offspring.  She  loved  them,  punished  them,  dis 
owned  them  at  intervals.  Now  she  took  up  one 
after  the  other,  critically  turning  her  head,  wrin 
kling  her  brow,  grumbling  under  her  breath,  and 
even  sticking  out  her  tongue  in  indecorous  fashion 
at  her  own  handiwork. 


42  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"I  never  can!"  she  cried.  "I'm  no  good! 
Oh,  cusses!  " 

So  long  was  she  preoccupied  with  the  inspec 
tion,  oblivious  of  seventeenth  cousins  and  the 
strawberry  shortcake  thing,  that  she  had  to 
"  jump  "  into  her  gown  when  the  gong  sounded, 
which  was  no  new  thing  for  her.  It  was  not 
much  of  a  gown.  That  being  the  case,  why  not 
jump  into  it?  If  it  appeared  to  be  thrown  on  it 
would  be  more  harmonious  with  her  style  of 
beauty.  What  did  it  matter,  anyway,  when  the 
harder  you  tried  to  draw  the  worse  you  drew? 

The  gown  which  Henrlette  wore  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  gown,  as  even  the  eye  of  the  man 
who  grasps  effects  (which  are  all  that  he  is  meant 
to  grasp)  and  not  the  details  which  make  the 
effects  might  see.  Its  simplicity,  perhaps,  made  it 
as  suitable  for  dinner  at  the  vicarage  as  at  a  more 
pretentious  board.  Experts  who  charge  more  for 
their  talents  than  for  the  material  they  use  had 
fashioned  it  to  make  the  most  of  Henriette,  a  de 
lightful  task  because  she  supplied  talent  with 
such  a  good  start.  However,  she  was  not  satisfied 
with  the  gown  after  her  inspection  of  it  before  the 
mirror,  though  possibly  better  pleased  when  she 
saw  its  effect  on  the  seventeenth  cousin. 

Mrs.  Sanford  had  seated  Philip  under  the 
portrait  across  from  Helen.  When  Henriette 
was  seated  at  his  side,  the  gown  which  had  set 
off  her  figure  so  attractively  as  she  entered  the 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  43 

room  became  only  the  vase  from  which  rose  the 
flower  of  her  white  shoulders  and  the  white 
column  of  neck  supporting  the  small  head.  She 
did  not  appear  to  direct  the  talk,  yet  it  seemed 
only  natural  that  she  should  be  its  creative  spirit. 
Mostly  it  was  between  the  two.  The  vicar  and 
his  wife  were  glad  enough  to  listen  and  to  ex 
change  glance  after  glance  at  the  portrait  behind 
Phil's  chair.  Henriette  frequently  spoke  of 
"  we,"  which  meant  herself  and  Helen,  as  if  they 
were  inseparable;  and  if  Helen  spoke  it  was  in 
answer  to  some  reference  which  her  sister  made 
to  her. 

"  I  am  the  talker,  you  see,"  she  said,  "  and 
Helen  is  the  wise  one." 

"  If  I  keep  still,"  Helen  interjected,  "  and  let 
Henriette  say  that  I'm  wise,  she  is  so  convincing 
that  lots  of  people  think  that  I  really  am." 

Phil  was  not  the  first  traveller  who  hardly 
realised  that  he  was  having  a  meal  at  the  same 
time  that  he  sat  next  to  a  pretty  girl  at  dinner. 
An  exclamation  from  the  others  first  apprised  him 
that  the  strawberry  shortcake  thing  had  arrived. 
By  all  external  criteria  it  might  have  come  from 
the  kitchen  at  Longfield.  The  main  body  was 
properly  accompanied  by  a  satellite  bowl  of 
crushed  berries. 

"  You  cut  it,"  said  Helen  to  Phil. 

He  did  as  bidden. 

"Now!" 


44  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

He  tasted  it  with  judicial  care. 

"Amazing!  "  he  declared.  "Let  no  one  say 
that  England's  insularity  means  lack  of  adapta 
bility.  Next  to  my  mother's,  it  is  the  best  I've 
ever  eaten.  I  must  give  my  compliments  to  the 
cook." 

"  I  will  for  you,"  put  in  Helen. 

"  But  the  object  is  proselytisation,"  said  Phil. 
"  I  wait  on  the  opinion  of  others." 

The  vicar  took  a  mouthful  and  then  another; 
his  wife  followed  the  same  process;  and — well, 
they  both  had  second  helpings.  The  strawberry 
shortcake  thing  had  won  no  less  a  victory  at 
Truckleford  than  had  Virginia  ham. 

"  It  wasn't  the  taxation  without  representation 
on  Virginia  ham  and  shortcake  that  led  to  your 
Declaration  of  Independence,  was  it?"  the  vicar 
asked  jocularly. 

"  No,  that  was  tea,"  Phil  replied.  "  After 
wards  we  became  a  nation  of  coffee  drinkers, 
further  to  prove  our  independence." 

"  When  you  come  to  Mervaux,"  Henriette  said, 
"  Jacqueline  will  make  you  forest  strawberry 
tartlets  as  only  a  French  cook  can  and  omelets 
so  light  that  they  have  to  be  weighed  down  lest 
they  fly  out  of  the  window  when  they  are  brought 
to  table.  We're  all  for  art  at  Mervaux." 

She  again  had  the  monopoly  of  his  attention. 

"  Do  you  allow  spectators?  "  he  asked.  "  May 
I  lie  on  the  grass  and  watch  you  paint,  or  shall  I 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  45 

be  required  to  pull  up  trees  and  rearrange  the 
landscape?  " 

"  It  depends.  I "  she  murmured  thought 
fully  as  she  stirred  her  coffee. 

Helen  did  not  hear  what  they  were  saying.  If 
they  were  preoccupied  with  each  other,  she  was 
preoccupied  with  the  portrait.  The  living  face 
underneath  the  frame  was  in  the  same  pose  as 
its  prototype.  Phil's  unconsciousness  of  what  was 
so  apparent  to  other  eyes  gave  dramatic  point  to 
the  situation.  At  last  she  could  restrain  herself 
no  longer.  She  cut  into  Henriette's  sentence  with 
her  outcry: 

"Look!     You  must  look!" 

For  him  there  was  a  sudden  transition  from  a 
concentration  of  attention  on  Henriette  to  Helen's 
eyes,  flaming  with  intensity,  not  lacking  in  mis 
chief,  as  she  leaned  across  the  table. 

"Where?"   he  asked. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  shout  as  if  there  were  an 
alarm  of  fire.  Look  at  the  portrait  behind  you  !  " 

He  turned  and  under  the  lettering  of  "  General 
Thomas  Sanford "  he  saw  a  clear-cut,  positive 
face,  lean,  with  a  humorous  curve  to  the  mouth 
and  eyes  surveying  the  world  with  ready  candour. 
When  he  turned  back  he  was  conscious  of  a  silence 
and  that  all  were  watching  him. 

"Don't  you  see  it?"  asked  Helen,  speaking 
what  was  in  the  mind  of  the  others. 

"  The  portrait,  yes.     What  has  happened  to 


46  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

it?  "  he  asked.  He  was  a  little  wary  of  some 
thing  lurking  in  the  eyes  of  the  plain  girl  opposite 
him.  They  seemed  to  have  unexplored  depths. 
If  she  were  having  some  joke  on  him  he  would 
feel  his  way,  this  stranger  in  foreign  climes,  and 
leave  the  next  move  to  her. 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  she  said.  "Wait! 
Everybody  wait!  "  She  was  gone  on  the  errand 
of  her  impulse. 

"  You  never  know  quite  what  Helen  is  going  to 
do  next,"  Henriette  explained. 

"  Her  French  blood,"  murmured  Mrs.  Sanford. 

Helen  returned  bearing  a  mirror  which  she 
had  taken  from  above  her  washstand. 

"  Of  course  you  didn't  see  it.  They  say  that 
if  one  met  his  double  in  the  street  he  would  be  the 
last  to  recognise  it,"  she  told  Phil,  as  she  held 
the  mirror  at  such  an  angle  that  both  General 
Thomas  Sanford's  face  and  his  own  were  re 
flected. 

Phil  drew  back  startled  after  a  first  glance, 
to  look  into  Helen's  eyes  expressive  of  her  in 
tense  enjoyment  of  the  situation;  and  then  irre 
sistibly  he  looked  again  in  the  mirror.  Two  and 
a  half  centuries  stood  between  the  two  Sanfords. 
Add  thirty  years  to  those  of  the  man  sitting  at 
the  table  and  dress  him  in  the  same  garb  as  the 
man  in  the  portrait  and  it  would  be  difficult  to 
tell  them  apart.  Phil  was  not  more  thrilled  than 
confused.  And  then  another  face  appeared  beside 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  47 

his  in  the  mirror.  It  was  Henrietta's,  peeping  in 
at  the  edge,  her  lips  parted  in  a  teasing  smile. 

"  Very  like,  isn't  it?  "  she  said  softly. 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured  to  the  reflection;  and  the 
reflection  was  gone,  leaving  him  alone  with  that 
of  the  ancestor. 

"The  old  blood!"  exclaimed  the  vicar,  with 
deep  emotion.  "  His  brother  was  the  founder 
of  the  American  family  and  your  father  and  you 
and  I  are  the  only  male  descendants.  Wait!" 
And  he  left  the  room. 

"  Which  means  that  the  plot  thickens,  I  sup 
pose,"  Phil  remarked,  with  an  accusing  look  at 
Helen. 

"  Honestly,  I'm  in  the  dark  about  his  inten 
tions,"  she  said,  still  holding  the  mirror.  The 
humour  of  the  situation  suddenly  smote  her,  and 
she  was  laughing  as  she  had  into  that  same  mirror 
before  dinner.  She  noted  a  shade  of  surprise  in 
his  eyes,  and  realisation  that  the  cause  of  it  was 
his  discovery  that  when  she  laughed  she  did  have 
a  certain  charm  that  brought  the  blood  to  her 
cheeks.  She  had  been  caught  posing — nothing 
less.  The  laugh  died;  not  even  a  smile  remained. 
The  lump  of  nose,  the  irregular  features,  the 
broad  mouth — she  was  her  plain,  usual  self 
again. 

"Go  on  laughing!"  he  exclaimed,  uncon 
sciously  voicing  his  thought  in  his  surprise.  "  I 
mean "  embarrassedly,  "  it's  your  joke.  I 


48  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

believe  your  conscience  is  already  troubling  you 
for  the  trick." 

"  It  is  a  mirror  conscience,"  she  answered,  look 
ing  back  at  him  soberly;  and  then,  from  the  infec 
tion  of  surprise  in  his  eyes,  a  gathering,  quizzical 
smile  spread  until  it  broke  in  another  ripple  of 
laughter. 

"  That  is  a  new  kind  of  conscience,  Helen.  Ex 
plain!  "  said  her  sister. 

"  To  you,  too,  Henriette?  "  said  Helen.  "  I've 
only  just  found  it,  myself." 

"  Apparently  it  is  in  the  backs  of  mirrors," 
murmured  Henriette. 

"  I  don't  blame  Henriette  for  never  looking  at 
the  back,  do  you?"  Helen  asked  Phil. 

Phil  thought  a  little  revenge  was  due  him  for 
having  a  mirror  set  in  front  of  him  for  the  pur 
pose  of  a  comparison  of  physiognomies. 

"  Hardly.  I  envy  the  mirror!  "  he  said,  turn 
ing  to  her.  But  she  had  dropped  her  gaze  to  her 
coffee  cup  and  took  a  deliberate  sip  before  look 
ing  up. 

"  It  is  always  pleasant  to  say  foolish  things 
nicely,"  she  remarked. 

"  But  he  is  sincere.  If  he  weren't  it  would  be 
accusing  him  of  blindness,  wouldn't  it,  cousin?" 
put  in  Helen  mischievously. 

"  Absolutely !"  he  managed  to  say,  conscious 
that  he  was  not  having  much  revenge  and  that 
things  were  getting  brittle;  while  Mrs.  Sanford, 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  49 

pretending  to  smile,  could  not  quite  follow  the 
nimble  conversation. 

Helen  laughed  again  to  cover  the  misadventure 
of  her  unruly  tongue,  and  Phil  laughed,  too, 
though  he  did  not  exactly  know  why.  Henriette 
was  taking  another  deliberate  sip  of  coffee.  They 
were  not  aware  of  the  vicar's  return  until  he  stood 
behind  Phil's  chair. 

"Look  again,  cousin!  "  Helen  bade  him. 

He  was  of  a  mind  not  to,  but  could  not  control 
his  curiosity.  The  vicar  was  holding  against  the 
frame  beside  the  face  of  the  ancestor  a  photograph 
of  the  statue  in  the  square  at  Longfield. 

"  Your  father  sent  it  to  me,"  he  explained. 

"  Not  a  double,  but  a  treble !  "  exclaimed 
Helen. 

"  It's  the  way  of  the  blood,"  continued  the  vicar. 
"  It  skips  generations,  but  it's  always  there — 
early  in  the  seventeenth  century,  late  in  the 
eighteenth,  and  now  early  in  the  twentieth." 

"  But  the  one  in  the  eighteenth  was  a  wicked 
rebel,  disloyal  to  our  German  king!  "  Helen  put 
in  again,  yielding  to  temptation.  "  Old  Thomas, 
there,  would  have  disowned  him." 

"  Helen  !  "  admonished  her  aunt.  "  It  was  only 
a  family  quarrel." 

"  But  I  believe  that  old  Thomas  would  have 
been  on  George  Washington's  right  hand,"  said 
Helen.  "  He  looks  it." 

Meanwhile,  Phil  was  looking  at  the  three  faces, 


50  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

so  similar  that  he  might  well  have  been  in  doubt 
which  was  his  own.  If  he  were  expected  to  rise 
and  make  a  fitting  speech  it  was  beyond  his  sense 
of  humour. 

"  Help!  help!  Too  much  ancestor!  "  he  cried 
out;  and  half  rising  he  seized  Helen's  hands,  push 
ing  the  mirror  away  at  the  same  time  that  he 
held  her  at  arms'  length.  "  You  began  it!  " 

She  was  flushing  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  How 
strong  he  was  !  How  silly  she  had  been  ! 

"  No,  the  ancestor !  Ancestors  begin  every 
thing  for  everybody !  "  she  retorted.  "  And  if 
you  will  let  go  of  me  I  will  put  the  mirror  away." 

"  We  all  beg  your  pardon  for  embarrassing 
you.  It  was  not  a  plot  and  we  are  all  very  in 
terested,"  said  the  vicar,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

The  photograph  of  the  Revolutionary  hero 
which  her  uncle  laid  on  the  table  Helen  took 
up;  and  the  change  of  subject  so  earnestly  desired 
by  every  one  she  wrought  in  another  impulse. 

'  What  do  ancestors  count,"  she  said,  "  beside 
a  piece  of  work  like  this !  It's  the  best  he  ever 
did  and  there  is  not  his  equal  in  all  this  island 
— nowhere  outside  of  France.  It's  power — the 
purity  of  line !  Who  wouldn't  charge  led  by  such 
a  figure  as  that!  " 

"  Now,  Helen,  when  you  are  through  with  your 
ecstasy  shan't  we  go  out  on  the  lawn?  "  said  her 
uncle,  patting  her  hand. 

The   force  of  her  enthusiasm  had  something 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  51 

compelling  which  led  Phil  to  look  at  the  photo 
graph  over  her  shoulder  as  if  it  were  something  he 
had  never  seen;  but  upon  her  uncle's  hint  he 
saw  a  plain,  dull  face  yielding  assent  and  he  was 
conscious  of  a  vitality  suddenly  turned  limp. 

Henriette  took  the  photograph  from  her  sister's 
hand. 

"  The  best  thing  of  his  I  have  seen,"  she  re 
marked,  examining  it.  "  Inspired  by  his  subject. 
He  has  just  missed  the  arm,1!  think.  I  should 
like  to  have  a  copy.  Shall  we  walk?  "  she  asked 
Phil,  leading  the  way.  "  We  ought  to  have  a 
portrait  of  the  seventeenth  cousin  as  well  as  of 
the  ancestors,"  she  continued.  "  I  may  try  por 
traiture  again  when  you  come  to  France.  You  will 
find  it  easier  to  pose  than  to  tear  up  trees,  for  we 
have  some  very  large  trees  at  Mervaux,  I  warn 
you." 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  be  in  profile,"  he  replied. 

Wasn't  he  going  to  France  to  see  her?  Per 
haps  she  understood  the  intimation,  as  she  pre 
tended  to  study  his  face  in  the  light  of  the  door 
way. 

"  I  think  a  full  face  will  be  best!  "  she  decided. 
"  What  a  glorious  night!  " 

Moonlight  and  the  soft  air  of  the  English  sum 
mer  time  redeem  the  soggy,  rheumatic  winters 
with  their  overcast  days.  A  carpet  of  sod  cut  by 
the  shadows  of  moon  rays  which  gave  lustre  to  her 
eyes !  In  months  to  come  there  were  to  be  other 


52  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

evenings  equally  fine  by  nature's  gentle  benefi 
cence,  but  none  like  this.  There  never  could  be 
again;  for  something  was  coming  to  the  world 
which  would  leave  nothing  in  human  relations  the 
same. 

The  cousinly  party  walked  up  and  down  or 
stopped  to  chat  in  changing  groups,  Henriette  and 
Phil  mostly  together  and  Helen  sometimes  quite 
by  herself.  The  happiest  of  all  were  the  vicar 
and  his  wife.  They  were  old  enough  to  take  hap 
piness  in  its  full  measure;  to  enjoy  that  of  their 
own  years  and  by  reflection  that  of  youth. 

"  Are  you  pleased  with  him?  "  asked  Mrs.  San- 
ford  when  two  white  heads,  much  like  the  two  at 
their  dinner  three  thousand  miles  away,  rested 
on  their  pillows. 

'  Yes,  my  dear.  I  shall  write  to  Dr.  Sanford 
that  we  claim  part  of  his  son.  He  is  our  Philip, 
too." 

"Our  Philip!"  she  repeated.  "The  family 
does  not  die  out,"  she  said,  in  relief  at  some  of  the 
weight  of  an  old  burden  lifted. 

"  It  survives  very  worthily  over  the  seas,"  said 
her  husband. 

"  How  beautiful  Henriette  was  to-night.  She 
grows  more  charming  as  she  matures,  though  I 
confess  young  people  of  this  age  puzzle  me.  I 
couldn't  help  thinking  what  a  splendid  pair  they 
made.  Ah,  blood  will  tell!" 

"  And  Helen  grows  more  temperamental." 


TOO  MUCH  ANCESTOR  53 

"  Poor  dear!  I  don't  know  what  will  become 
of  her." 

With  accustomed  leisure  Henriette  had  taken 
off  her  gown.  It  had  served  well  that  evening. 
To  her  delicate  sense  it  was  a  living  thing,  a 
servant  subject  to  praise  and  reproach.  Caress 
ingly  she  laid  it  aside.  The  buckles  of  her  slippers 
smiled  at  her,  and  she  held  the  foot  which  she 
withdrew  arched  and  turned  it  for  inspection  be 
fore  thrusting  it  into  the  softer  slipper  fitted  to 
enjoy  the  bare  intimacy  of  such  a  small  foot. 
Still  more  leisurely  she  undid  her  hair  and  brushed 
it,  conscious  that  the  picture  in  the  frame  before 
her  was  the  same  that  she  had  momentarily  set 
in  the  mirror  beside  a  seventeenth  cousin's  at 
table. 

Helen — poor  dear! — hung  up  her  gown  care 
fully  enough,  though  with  no  more  interest  than 
if  it  were  a  towel;  and  she  kicked  first  one  of  her 
slippers  almost  ceiling  high  and  caught  it  and 
then  the  other,  in  enjoyment  of  an  old  trick  of 
hers.  Mirrors  were  of  no  use  to  her  in  undoing 
and  brushing  her  hair;  yet  as  she  laid  the  brush 
back  on  the  table  she  had  a  glimpse  of  herself  and 
it  was  the  smiling  self.  She  laughed  at  that  self, 
only  to  find  that  it  was  less  plain-looking 
than  the  smiling  self;  and  then  she  was  angry. 
The  mirror  conscience  stabbed  her  with  the 
thought  that  she  was  posing,  trying  to  be  attrac 
tive. 


54  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  He  must  have  fancied  that  I  was  flirting!  " 
she  mused.  "  I  flirt  with  anybody !  " 

When  she  went  to  bed  it  was  to  toss  and  think 
of  many  things,  consequent  and  inconsequent,  and 
of  no  one  thing  for  long,  and  when  she  found  her 
self  sobbing  she  turned  on  the  light  and  took  up 
her  charcoals.  But  they  seemed  crude  and  self- 
accusing,  and  she  turned  to  drawing  pictures  out 
of  her  fancy,  which  at  last  made  her  eyelids  heavy 
as  it  had  on  many  other  occasions. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES 

WHEN  Helen  came  down  to  breakfast  she 
was  wan  and  years  older  in  appearance 
than  Henriette,  who  was  blooming  and 
cheerful. 

"  Working  again !  Confess — I  saw  the  light 
in  your  room,"  said  Henriette.  "  You  try  too 
hard." 

"  There's  no  doubt  of  it,"  agreed  Helen.  "  I 
can't  help  it.  It's  the  fault  of  mistaking  taste  for 
talent  in  moments  of  impulse,  and  some  kind  of  a 
knot  in  my  brain." 

"  Poor  dear!  "  said  Mrs.  Sanford  in  instinctive 
sympathy  before  she  could  catch  herself.  Then 
she  drew  back  in  her  chair,  prepared  for  the 
tempest. 

But  this  time  Helen  did  not  appear  even  irri 
tated;  she  had  become  more  than  ever  inexplicable 
to  her  aunt. 

"  Poor  dear !  "  she  repeated  absently.  "  If  one 
talks  about  one's  self  one  must  expect  to  be  talked 
about." 

The  vicar  turned  to  Phil's  experiences  in  the 
Southwest.  Was  it  really  wild?  And  how  did 

55 


56  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

one  live?  As  Phil  pictured  his  life  in  swift,  broad 
strokes,  Helen  was  listening  intently  and  some  of 
the  fire  returned  to  her  eyes. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  have  not  told,"  he  said 
gravely,  as  they  went  out  on  the  lawn.  "  I  think 
that  it  ought  to  be  told  even  in  the  presence  of 
the  ancestor,  though  he  may  disown  me." 

"  More  American  humour,"  thought  Mrs.  San- 
ford,  convinced  that  she  now  knew  the  signals  and 
prepared  to  laugh  even  if  she  did  not  understand 
the  joke. 

"  My  first  task  was  cleaning  out  cattle  cars !  " 

But  Mrs.  Sanford  did  not  laugh.  She  was 
aghast.  Even  the  vicar  was  visibly  shocked. 
Helen  spoke  first. 

"  I  hope  you  did  it  well,"  she  said. 

"  No  fear!  "  he  rejoined. 

"  We  wondered  why  you  did  not  go  to  work 
for  Peter,"  said  the  vicar. 

They,  too,  knew  of  Peter  Smithers.  Even  in 
England  Philip  could  not  escape  the  shadow  of 
the  rich  man  who  might  leave  him  a  fortune, 
which  Mrs.  Sanford  had  already  imagined  as 
restoring  the  estate  in  Hampshire.  Perhaps 
Phil  guessed  as  much,  for  he  related  with  relish 
the  essence  of  his  last  interview  with  Peter.  The 
vicar  and  his  wife  looked  depressed;  they  longed 
to  tell  him  that  he  had  been  unwise. 

Helen  was  laughing  as  she  had  last  night  into 
the  mirror,  at  the  picture  which  she  conjured 


THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES        57 

of  Peter  stamping  down  the  path  at  Longfield  in 
anger. 

"  Splendid!  "  she  exclaimed,  almost  hilariously; 
and  then  was  still,  as  their  eyes  met. 

"  You'll  make  your  own  fortune,  which  is  bet 
ter,"  said  Henriette. 

"  A  hundred  a  week  is  all  there  is  in  sight  at 
present,"  Phil  replied. 

"  We  have  little  time  before  the  train  goes 
if "  the  vicar  urged. 

It  was  the  ancestors  again.  The  warrior  of  the 
portrait  had  the  cool  and  damp  distinction  of  hav 
ing  his  bones  under  a  stone  in  the  church  floor 
which  had  been  trod  by  generations  of  worship 
pers.  Later  cousins  were  in  the  churchyard,  their 
chiselled  names  grown  faint.  The  vicar's  kindly 
face  glowed  as  he  indulged  in  his  favourite  topic 
of  genealogy.  Helen  imagined  the  ancestors  in 
the  garbs  and  prejudices  of  their  time  come  to 
life  and  passing  in  review  before  the  transplanted 
and  surviving  branch. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  suggested,  in  the  way  she 
had  of  speaking  aloud  to  herself,  as  if  the  thought 
were  not  worth  considering  by  other  people  but 
pleased  her,  "  I  suppose  that  Peter  Smithers  would 
say  that  these  are  all  dead  ones  and  it's  the  live 
ones  that  count." 

Of  course  she  should  not  make  such  remarks. 
Still,  she  would  and  people  would  stare  at  her  in 
wonder,  even  as  the  vicar  and  his  wife  were  star- 


58  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

ing  at  that  moment.  Phil  looking  hard  at  a  tomb 
stone  had  a  quiver  to  his  lips  which  he  would 
have  denied  bore  any  relation  to  a  smile. 

"  I  was  only  thinking  how  much  nicer  it  must 
be  to  be  alive  and  touring  Europe  for  the  first  time 
with  the  money  you  had  earned,  instead  of  being 
an  ancestor,"  she  explained.  "  I  like  Peter  for 
giving  his  money  to  the  clubhouse.  Ancestors 
did  nothing  for  him." 

"You   don't   seem   to   care   for   ancestors?" 
Phil  suggested. 

"  Oh,    yes,    lots — generically,"    she    answered. 
'  They  built   cathedrals   and   churches   like   this 
and  had  a  horrid  good  old  human  time  in  the 
doing  of  it.     As  for  one's  own  ancestors,  it  de 
pends  upon  how  much  they  have  done  for  you." 
'  You  are  quite  surpassing  yourself  at  icono- 
clasm  to-day,"   said  her  sister  gently  and  sym 
pathetically. 

Helen  nodded  as  if  she  knew  it,  and  could  not 
help  herself. 

"  Everything  depends  upon  the  flavour  of  the 
grapes,"  she  replied.  The  sisters  were  searching 
each  other's  eyes  in  a  new  and  surprising  way  to 
both.  The  grapes  were  sweet  to  Henriette;  they 
were  sour  to  Helen. 

"  It  is  the  hard  work  last  night,"  said  Henri 
ette,  slipping  her  arm  around  her  sister.  '  Those 
charcoals  may  come  right  yet." 

Helen  was  silent,  unresisting,  unresponsive,  her 


THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES        59 

face  like  ill-moulded  clay,  and  Henriette  a  personi 
fication  of  apology  to  Phil. 

"  According  to  story-books,  Peter  may  yet  fall 
on  his  knees  and  beg  you  to  take  his  fortune," 
she  added  to  Phil.  "  So  much  for  Peter  Smithers. 
He  doesn't  worry  you,  does  he?  It's  delightful 
having  seventeenth  cousins  like  you." 

"  And  like  you !  "  he  replied  to  the  challenge. 
"  And  you  will  not  let  me  miss  the  train." 

They  had  time  to  walk  and  his  bag  had  already 
gone.  Helen  was  subdued,  remaining  with  her 
uncle  behind  Phil  and  Henriette. 

"  Remember  at  Mervaux,  the  sixth  of 
August  I  "  Henriette  called  from  the  platform. 

"  I  await  your  mother's  invitation,"  Phil  re 
plied. 

His  last  view  of  her  was  the  uplifted  arm  as 
she  waved  her  handkerchief.  Of  course  he  had 
said  that  he  would  return  to  Truckleford  now 
that  he  had  found  the  way  and  the  vicar  even 
talked  of  accepting  the  invitation  to  Longfield, 
which  is  the  way  of  such  partings.  But  America 
is  far  away. 

Philip  was  alone  in  the  compartment,  very 
much  alone  as  pictures  recollected  from  the  down 
journey  passed  before  his  mind.  The  glance 
across  the  aisle  at  the  first  meeting;  Henriette's 
face  reflected  in  the  mirror  beside  his;  her  figure 
preceding  him  along  the  path  as  they  ascended  the 
hill  above  the  village ;  little  confidences  on  the  walk 


60  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

to  the  station.  These  are  well-known  symptoms. 
Acting  as  his  own  diagnostician,  this  modern  youth 
only  four  weeks  from  the  cactus  country  thought : 

"I  wonder  if  I  have  been  hit!  And  Helen? 
I  don't  quite  make  her  out.  She's  not  uninterest 
ing,  though.  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  take  Hen- 
riette  to  do  a  portrait!  I  hope  she  is  one  of 
those  painstaking  artists  who  has  intervals  of  rest 
and  conversation.  But  maybe  Madame  Ribot 
won't  write  to  me,"  scepticism  which  he  dismissed 
as  unpleasant.  It  stood  to  reason  that  the  mother 
of  such  a  girl  as  Henriette  would  do  anything  that 
she  wanted.  "  I  should,  myself,"  he  decided. 

To  him  as  an  American  the  assassination  of 
the  heir  to  a  European  throne  and  his  consort, 
which  he  read  in  the  newspapers  that  evening,  had 
the  thrill  of  horror  of  a  railroad  or  a  steamship 
disaster.  It  could  have  none  of  the  seriousness 
that  it  had  to  every  European,  who  had  that 
"  balance  of  power,"  as  they  called  it,  in  the  back 
of  the  head  of  his  individual  existence.  He  read; 
he  sympathised  in  a  generic  twinge  of  pity,  and 
was  little  further  concerned.  In  the  afternoon 
of  the  next  day  he  should  be  in  Holland  and  in 
the  evening,  had  he  not  chosen  to  spend  a  few 
days  with  Rembrandt  and  wooden  shoes,  he 
could  have  been  in  Berlin,  a  journey  in  distance 
equivalent  to  that  from  Buffalo  to  New  York  or 
Chicago  to  Omaha. 

What  contrast  in  language  and  people !     Miss 


THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES        61 

Wooden  Shoes  was  as  boyhood  pictures  made  her : 
and  leisurely  England,  too;  but  where  was  the 
phlegmatic  old  German  with  his  china-bowl  pipe? 
He  realised  the  energy  of  the  new  Germany,  gal 
vanised  by  some  higher  will  of  leadership,  with 
the  resentment  of  its  verboten  system  which  is 
inevitable  to  all  Americans  who  have  not  been 
educated  in  Germany  and  themselves  fallen  into 
step,  and  particularly  to  a  Sanford  of  New 
England. 

He  met  Americans  wherever  he  went,  in  hotels, 
on  trains,  and  in  picture  galleries,  catered  to  for 
the  dollars  they  dropped  by  the  way  into  open 
palms,  privately  criticised  for  the  very  liberality 
which  made  them  welcome,  not  to  mention  also 
for  their  brusqueness,  their  air  of  success  and 
sometimes  their  spread-eagleism.  But  they  did 
not  care  as  long  as  they  had  the  freedom  of  the 
playground.  European  politics  or  world  politics 
did  not  concern  them,  come  from  the  fatness  of 
their  new  world  beyond  the  seas.  The  last  tourist 
summer  of  its  kind! 

Philip  studied  the  newspapers  with  the  help  of 
college  German  which  is  good  enough  on  gram 
mar  but  floundering  in  passing  the  time  of  day. 
His  keen  mind  began  to  catch  the  sense  of  how  an 
assassination  affected  that  balance  of  power;  he 
felt  the  pressure  in  the  air  before  a  cloud  burst; 
the  suspense  of  the  sparks  running  along  the  fuse 
from  Sarajevo  to  the  powder  magazines — but  all 


62  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

objectively,  with  no  presage  of  how  subjective  it 
was  to  become  to  him. 

Then  one  day  all  the  youth  of  that  nation 
moved  as  with  one  thought  and  purpose,  as  the 
football  eleven  goes  onto  the  gridiron — which  was 
the  simple  comparison  that  he  made.  For  forty 
years  they  had  been  drilling  for  this  struggle  and 
all  the  years  and  days  and  hours  of  the  forty  years 
broke  in  cumulative  force  for  the  blow.  How  it 
made  him  think;  that  a  people  could  act  together 
in  this  fashion;  that  a  million  and  two  million  men 
could  go  each  to  his  place  as  the  fireman  to  his 
on  an  alarm!  It  seemed  as  if  they  should  sweep 
all  the  world  before  them,  like  the  breaking  of  a 
dam  down  a  river  bed. 

Youth  was  not  bothering  how  to  get  home. 
It  was  on  the  scene  and  that  was  enough.  But 
about  Mervaux  and  seventeenth  cousins?  Should 
he  see  either?  While  in  Berlin  he  had  received 
so  insistent  a  letter  of  invitation  from  Madame 
Ribot  that  he  had  decided  to  spend  less  time  in 
Paris  and  more  in  Mervaux  than  originally 
planned,  if  it  were  agreeable. 

Somehow  he  got  on  board  a  train  in  Switzer 
land,  and  sitting  up  all  night  in  a  stifling  second- 
class  compartment  he  reached  Paris.  His  fellow- 
passengers  were  thinking  of  how  to  obtain  money 
on  letters  of  credit  and  how  to  find  berths  on  a 
transatlantic  steamer.  His  own  passage  had  al 
ready  been  engaged  on  a  French  ship  from  Havre. 


THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES        63 

In  Paris  was  a  man  who  was  more  important 
to  Phil  than  kings  and  generals.  The  manager 
of  the  corporation  which  had  promoted  him  and 
paid  the  wage  that  gave  him  the  holiday  had  just 
arrived  from  Vichy  by  automobile.  Mr.  Ledyard 
was  in  a  state  of  mind!  The  credit  of  the  world 
thrown  out  of  gear;  no  answers  to  his  cablegrams; 
stock  markets  closed,  while  the  passage  he  had 
engaged  from  Boulogne  on  a  German  steamer  was 
of  about  as  much  use  to  him  for  crossing  the 
Atlantic  as  a  team  of  Esquimaux  dogs.  When 
Phil  entered  the  room  Ledyard  had  been  ringing 
in  vain  for  a  servant,  who  was  already  with  the 
colours.  He  was  glad  of  some  one  to  talk  to, 
this  man  of  power  whom  Phil  had  met  only  twice  : 
once  on  being  employed  and  again  on  his  return 
from  the  Southwest  to  promotion. 

u  Business  will  go  to  the  devil!  "  sajd  Ledyard. 
"  Everybody  is  going  to  draw  in  and  wait  to  see 
whether  or  not  the  world  is  coming  to  an  end. 
I'd  like  to  drive  the  Kaiser's  war  bonnet  down 
over  his  head  and  strangle  him.  I  confess  that 
I  never  felt  so  helpless  in  my  life.  I  can't  even 
get  a  second-class  passage.  Steamship  company 
paid  no  attention  to  my  wires.  First  come,  first 
served." 

"  I  have  a  passage  on  a  French  liner  for  the 
sixteenth,"  said  Phil,  "  two  in  the  cabin,  if  it  will 
be  any  use  to  you,  sir." 

"  Will  it  be  any  use?    Taken,  if  it's  six  in  the 


64  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

cabin,"  said  Mr.  Ledyard.  "  And  you  return 
when  you  can  get  a  comfortable  passage;  your 
salary  goes  on."  He  considered  the  favour  worth 
Phil's  salary  for  years.  "  I  shouldn't  stay  in  Paris 
if  I  were  you,"  he  went  on.  "  You  might  be 
caught  in  a  siege.  These  people  can't  hold  the 
Germans.  Manufacturing  power  and  efficiency 
will  be  the  big  factors  in  this  war,  and  the  Ger 
mans  are  ready.  You  have  seen  that,  haven't 
you?" 

"  Yes.     Amazing — it's  a  lesson." 

"  My  English  friends  won't  see  Germany;  they 
live  too  close  to  her.  But  an  American  ought 
to,  even  if  he  resents  her.  It's  between  the  Ger 
mans  and  the  British  navy.  The  French  can't 
stand  up  to  it.  I  only  wish  they  could." 

Phil  could  not  agree.  It  was  a  different  atmos 
phere  which  he  had  found  in  Paris  from  that  in 
Berlin,  but  no  less  impressive.  Here  was  the  wall 
to  hold  the  battering-ram  which  he  had  seen  in 
movement  for  the  shock  on  the  other  side  of  the 
frontier.  The  emotional  French  were  going 
silently  to  their  places  no  less  promptly  than  the 
Germans;  democracy  against  Kaiserdom,  the 
closed  shops  with  "  Sous  le  drapeau  "  chalked  on 
the  shutters,  the  quietness  of  prayer  and  resolution 
which  possessed  all  France  as  one  human  being 
had  taken  possession  of  him. 

All  the  world  at  war,  and  he  was  walking  down 
the  Champs-Elysees,  the  greatest  street  in  the 


THE  FLAVOUR  OF  GRAPES        65 

world,  its  pavement  white  in  the  moonlight  and 
silent  except  for  an  occasional  footfall.  Some 
where  over  the  hills  in  the  direction  of  Rheims 
was  Mervaux.  If  the  Ribots  were  still  there  and 
wanted  him,  he  would  pay  them  at  least  a  call. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT  MERVAUX 

THE  trace  of  American  blood  in  Madame 
Ribot's  veins  was  only  an  echo,  yet  its 
presence  kept  her  from  being  entirely 
European.  She  had  never  visited  America;  even 
her  English  had  more  than  a  touch  of  French 
accent.  America  was  vast,  distant,  noisy,  and 
little  concerned  her.  Nothing  much  concerned  her 
except  her  comfort.  Her  small,  shrewd  eyes 
served  the  ends  of  a  sluggish  disposition.  In 
girlhood  they  had  not  kept  her  from  being  beauti 
ful  and  in  middle  age  they  sat  guardian  over  her 
health  and  the  business  of  preserving  the  fresh 
ness  of  features  which  were  strikingly  like  Hen- 
riette's. 

Her  phlegm,  if  phlegm  it  were,  was  reaction 
from  days  when  she  had  enjoyed  Monte  Carlo  no 
less  than  Paris.  They  were  days  that  she  never 
mentioned.  Possibly  they  had  brought  pre 
maturely  the  wrinkles  which,  in  a  later  phase, 
she  massaged  as  unpleasant  landmarks.  She 
fought  to  retain  youth,  while  reliving  it  in  Hen- 
riette. 

M.  Ribot,  who  was  in  the  Argentine,  belonged 

66 


AT  MERVAUX  67 

to  the  past,  and  the  income  dating  back  to  an 
arrangement  between  lawyers  came  regularly 
from  a  lawyer  and  would  come  till  her  death  or 
till  she  married  again.  There  had  been  a  grand 
father  who  lived  in  a  villa  overlooking  the  Medi 
terranean.  He  had  been  fond  of  Henriette  and 
said  that  his  son,  Henriette's  father,  was  a  fool 
and  a  blackguard  and  his  daughter-in-law  was  a 
lucky,  selfish,  spoiled  child.  When  he  died  he 
left  Henriette  an  independent  fortune. 

The  rest  was  wrapped  in  mystery  and  eccen 
tricity,  with  Helen  a  sort  of  appendage.  She  and 
Henriette  indistinctly  remembered  a  quarrel  be 
tween  their  parents  in  an  apartment  in  Paris, 
which  they  overheard  from  an  adjoining  room 
without  knowing  what  it  meant.  Later,  the  grand 
father  came  and  the  father  went  away,  without 
Madame  seeming  to  mind  his  going.  Helen  did 
remember  her  mother  saying  to  the  father: 

'  You  may  have  Helen,  if  you  wish,  but  I  shall 
keep   Henriette;"    and   the   grandfather   added: 
'  Yes,  she  stays  in  France.    I  shall  stay  in  France, 
myself." 

As  the  father  would  not  have  plain  little  Helen, 
the  mother  kept  her.  After  her  separation  from 
her  husband,  Madame  Ribot  settled  in  the  chateau 
at  Mervaux  and  Henriette's  money  maintained  a 
small  apartment  in  Paris,  where  the  family  went 
in  winter  that  Henriette  might  study  painting;  for 
all  agreed  that  she  had  talent. 


68  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Helen  wandered  in  the  fields  and  talked  to  the 
peasants  and  kept  on  trying  to  draw.  Her  only 
lessons  were  from  an  old  artist  who  had  become 
interested  in  her  when  she  was  fifteen.  His 
technique  was  excellent.  He  knew  how,  but  he 
could  not  do  it,  as  he  said. 

"  You  keep  on  drawing  and  drawing,"  were  his 
last  words,  "  and  don't  bother  if  any  one  thinks 
you  an  ugly  duckling." 

She  did  not  mind  the  old  artist  calling  her  an 
ugly  duckling.  These  two  believed  in  the  truth, 
the  truth  of  art.  No  one  had  ever  seen  so  much 
of  the  charm  of  her  smile  as  he  when  they  walked 
beside  the  Seine,  went  to  the  Louvre,  browsed  in 
old  print  shops,  and  he  criticised  her  work,  her 
miserable  charcoals,  as  she  called  them.  When 
he  died  Helen  felt  that  she  had  lost  her  best 
friend  and  she  went  regularly  to  put  flowers  on 
his  grave,  smiling  the  while,  even  if  her  eyes  were 
moist,  as  he  who  had  no  friends  except  her  would 
have  wished. 

Her  smiles  were  for  the  byways.  She  had 
many  for  the  peasants  and  the  villagers.  They 
liked  the  strange,  moody  Helen  better  than  the 
beautiful,  gracious  Henriette,  and  they  liked  to 
pose  for  her.  Mere  Perigord  who  sat  outside  her 
door  crocheting  on  sunny  days  had  been  drawn 
a  score  of  times  by  Helen. 

"  Keep  on  drawing  and  drawing!  "  This  was 
really  all  of  Helen's  life.  Henriette  painted  and 


AT  MERVAUX  69 

Madame  Ribot  massaged  her  wrinkles,  read  many 
novels,  took  a  long  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  a 
longer  time  to  get  up  in  the  morning,  and  ex 
changed  reminiscent  letters  with  men  and  women 
who  had  belonged  to  the  early  period  of  her  life. 
One  might  think  that  she  was  preparing  to  marry 
again,  but  the  peasants  and  the  servants  knew 
better.  They  had  dismissed  the  gossip  over  the 
thought  in  connection  with  the  Count  de  la  Grange, 
a  neighbour  of  acceptable  age  but  quite  poor,  and 
also  in  connection  with  General  Rousseau,  a  major 
in  the  war  of  '70,  another  neighbour  who  was 
fairly  well-to-do. 

For  years  the  thing  had  been  going  on.  Almost 
every  day  the  Count  and  the  General  called  or 
came  to  dinner.  Madame  Ribot  was  their  social 
world.  They  were  ever  telling  her  how  young 
she  kept;  the  Count  with  an  indirection  which  was 
the  most  delicate  flattery  and  the  General  with 
the  brusqueness  of  a  soldier,  which  had  the  charm 
of  contrast  with  the  Count's  method.  The  two 
vying  in  gallantries  of  an  old-fashioned  kind  made 
a  situation  all  to  Madame  Ribot's  taste,  as  her 
shrewd  eyes  turned  from  one  to  the  other.  Imagi 
nation  and  recollection,  with  the  basis  of  the  past 
to  work  on,  completed  her  satisfaction. 

When  she  received  the  letter  from  Henriette 
asking  her  to  invite  the  seventeenth  cousin  to 
Mervaux,  her  characteristic  of  making  much  of 
little  by  reflection,  which  was  as  French  as  it 


yo  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

was  Innate,  enlarged  it  to  a  significant  event. 
Thanks  to  the  vicar  of  Truckleford,  she  was  not 
uninformed  of  the  statue  in  the  square  at  Long- 
field;  and  she  was  not  without  pride  in  her  blood. 
Her  American  mother  had  not  been  of  the 
nouveaux,  and  from  what  Henriette  said  about 
Phil  she  grasped  that  he  was  of  that  breed  of 
American  sufficient  unto  itself,  in  the  pride  of  a 
new  nationality  which  does  not  need  the  label 
of  nobility  as  assurance  of  quality.  She  could 
write  a  gracious  letter  and  it  pleased  her  to  take 
some  pains  with  the  invitation  to  Philip  Sanford. 

The  letter  posted,  she  had  a  twinge  of  loneli 
ness.  She  missed  Henriette.  Her  affection  for 
her  daughter  was  compounded  with  selfishness. 
She  liked  the  sight  of  Henriette  at  her  easel; 
Henriette  in  her  morning  gown;  Henriette  in  dis 
habille,  throat  and  shoulders  bare  and  her  figure 
worthy  of  her  features.  Thus  she  herself  had 
looked  in  youth,  she  knew.  If  she  had  only  had 
Henriette's  eyes!  She  was  pleased  that  her 
daughter  had  fine  eyes,  yet  almost  envied  them. 
Still,  Henriette  was  a  part  of  herself;  a  flower 
from  her  stem;  a  pleasant  reminder  of  youth 
which  kept  her  young.  As  an  inheritance  Hen 
riette  had  her  mother's  gift  with  men,  plus  her 
own  gift  of  art;  for  it  was  art  that  made  her 
different  from  her  mother. 

Henriette's  letter  from  Truckleford  had  made 
no  mention  of  the  thing  that  Madame  Ribot  had 


AT  MERVAUX  71 

had  most  in  mind  as  the  object  of  the  girls'  visit 
to  the  Sanfords.  Helen,  who  had  written  only 
once  and  at  other  times  sent  love  through  Hen- 
riette,  had  not  mentioned  it,  which  was  more  sus 
picious  still.  So  Madame  Ribot  wrote  directly 
to  Mrs.  Sanford,  who  answered  that  "  Helen  was 
in  such  a  temper  at  mention  of  the  subject  that  I 
did  not  pursue  it." 

"  The  little  devil!  "  exclaimed  Madame  Ribot. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  had  made  such 
reference  to  Helen.  In  the  fulness  of  irritation 
she  started  a  letter  to  Helen,  peremptory,  up 
braiding;  but  did  not  finish  it.  The  recollection  of 
three  days  which  she  had  once  spent  nursing  her 
husband  in  a  hotel  room,  when  they  were  travel 
ling  in  Algeria  where  no  nurse  could  be  obtained, 
rose  before  her.  Besides,  anger  was  wrinkle- 
making.  And  what  was  the  use?  She  tore  up 
the  letter  and  turned  from  her  desk  to  her  mani 
cure  set. 

Her  plan  had  been  for  Helen  to  remain  in 
England  and  enter  a  training  school  for  nurses. 
England  was  a  better  place  for  that  sort  of  thing 
than  France  and  it  meant  that  Helen  would  be 
established  quite  independently  some  distance 
from  home  and  earning  her  living  in  an  honour 
able  way.  Not  that  she  had  put  the  plan  as  clearly 
as  this  to  Helen,  but  she  had  written  it  to  Mrs. 
Sanford,  trusting  to  that  gentle  soul's  persuasion 
to  carry  it  into  effect. 


72  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  If  Helen  only  had  a  little  grit !  "  thought 
Madame  Ribot.  "  Now  if  it  were  Henriette " 

Awaiting  the  girls'  return,  on  the  mantelpiece 
of  the  dining-room,  with  a  number  of  letters  for 
Henriette  was  a  letter  from  Paris  for  Helen. 
When  she  opened  it  she  forgot  any  twinge  of 
suffering  because  her  mother  had  kissed  Hen 
riette  on  both  cheeks  and  embraced  her,  while 
giving  the  other  daughter  a  dab  on  one  cheek. 
Helen  was  breathing  very  hard  and  holding  the 
letter  so  tight  in  her  fingers  that  it  trembled. 
She  had  read  it  through  twice  to  make  quite  cer 
tain  that  her  eyes  were  not  deceiving  her,  before 
her  cry  of  delight  made  Madame  Ribot  and  Hen 
riette,  who  was  running  through  her  own  letters 
to  see  which  she  should  open  first,  turn. 

"  Oh,  it  is  good — good — good!  "  she  repeated. 
"  M.  Vailliant  is  coming  to  look  at  my  charcoals 
to  see  if  I  have  enough  for  an  exhibition.  If  I 
have  that  means  I  shall  make  a  lot.  You're  bound 
to,  everybody  says,  at  one  of  his  exhibitions." 

Neither  Madame  Ribot  nor  Henriette  had 
spoken.  They  seemed  startled  by  the  violence  of 
her  enthusiasm. 

"Aren't  you  glad?"  Helen  asked,  suddenly 
becoming  very  still. 

"  Glad !  Who  should  be  glad  if  not  I  ?  "  said 
her  mother  feelingly. 

Henriette  slipped  her  arm  around  Helen's 
waist. 


AT  MERVAUX  73 

"  And  I,  you  dear  mouse,  when  you've  worked 
so  long  and  hard!  It's  a  triumph,"  she  said. 

Helen  nestled  her  head  on  her  sister's  shoulder 
and  drew  deep,  long  breaths,  while  Madame 
Ribot  took  up  the  letter. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  be  too  set-up  for  fear 
you  may  be  disappointed,"  she  said.  "  M.  Vail- 
liant  says  /'/  there  are  enough  to  be  worth  while. 
He  is  only  coming  to  look  over  your  work." 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Helen,  sobering.  "  I  had 
the  exhibition  already  open.  Enough  and  worth 
while !  We'll  see — you  will  help  me  to  decide. 
I'll  bring  them  all  down  and  we  can  go  through 
them  together.  From  the  way  he  writes  he  may 
come  to-day." 

She  hurried  away  and  returned  directly  with 
the  first  portfolio  of  the  drawings  which  she  had 
kept — for  she  had  destroyed  many  in  moments 
of  depression — and  having  laid  them  on  the  table 
went  for  another  and  still  another. 

"  I  never  realised  that  I  had  done  so  many!  " 
she  exclaimed,  in  amazement  at  the  size  of  the 
stack. 

"  Mere  Perigord  twenty  times!  "  smiled  Hen- 
riette. 

Madame  Ribot  was  appalled  by  the  task,  though 
she  had  seen  and  heard  so  much  of  Helen's  char 
coals.  She  and  Henriette  stood  by  perfunctorily, 
Avhile  Helen  turned  severe  critic.  None  of  them 
seemed  good  to  her,  as  she  thought  of  how  they 


74  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

would  look  on  a  wall  at  an  exhibition,  with  con 
noisseurs  picking  them  to  pieces. 

"Oh,  cusses!  I  can't  do  it!  I  never  can!" 
she  declared.  "  My  fate  is  to  wear  a  white  cap 
and  feed  people  broth  and  keep  their  temperature 
chart  in  order !  "  She  slapped  one  Mere  Peri- 
gord  in  the  face  in  disgust. 

"  Remember,"  said  Henriette,  "  that  charcoal 
is  very  limited." 

In  the  midst  of  the  selection  a  limousine  rolled 
up  to  the  door  and  a  roly-poly  little  man,  with 
close-cropped  beard  and  eyes  as  shrewd  as 
Madame  Ribot's  own,  alighted  and  sent  in  the 
card  of  "  M.  Vailliant,  Art  Dealer." 

Madame  Ribot  received  him.  As  he  entered 
the  room  Henriette  was  standing  by  the  near  side 
of  the  table  in  front  of  Helen,  in  whose  heart 
was  great  fear,  any  faith  she  might  have  had  in 
her  charcoals  shrivelling  in  his  presence.  M. 
Vailliant  bowed  to  both,  his  glance  swiftly  mov 
ing  about  the  room  as  if  counting  the  number 
of  the  scattered  drawings;  but  to  Henriette,  whose 
beauty  dominated  her  surroundings,  he  made  a 
particularly  low  bow. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  see  that  you  are  ready  for 
me,"  he  said,  with  still  another  bow  to  Henriette. 
And  Helen  felt  the  shrivelling  sensation  more 
deeply. 

"  Both  my  daughters  are  artists,  and  one 
paints,"  said  Madame  Ribot,  with  the  reflection 


AT  MERVAUX  75 

of  pride  in  the  tribute  which  M.  Vailliant  had  in 
stinctively  paid  to  Henriette,  some  of  whose 
paintings  were  on  the  walls.  Indeed,  they  were 
everywhere  about  the  chateau.  "  I  am  rather 
fond  of  this  one,  myself,"  she  added,  nodding 
toward  a  landscape  which  faced  the  dealer.  It 
had  had  honourable  mention  at  the  Salon,  but 
it  had  not  sold. 

Looking  from  Henriette  to  the  picture  and  then 
back  at  Henriette,  the  art  dealer  breathed  an 
"  Ah!  "  in  a  way  that  implied  that  a  place  in  the 
Salon  was  the  obvious  one  for  Henriette. 

"  Naturally,  I  know  of  your  work,"  he  said, 
with  another  bow. 

"  My  daughter  has  never  had  an  exhibition, 
though  she  has  quite  enough  pictures  now,"  went 
on  Madame  Ribot.  "  There  are  others  in  the 
next  room.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  them, 
too." 

Most  charming  Madame  Ribot  was  when  she 
was  interested  in  any  purpose,  and  she  led  the  way 
into  the  room,  Henriette  meantime  standing  in 
the  doorway  and  studying  M.  Valliant's  face. 
Helen  remained  beside  her  pile  of  charcoals,  try 
ing  to  resist  the  desire  to  fly  to  the  fields  away 
from  the  whole  business.  She  could  feel  her  heart 
pounding  and  her  temples  throbbing.  When  she 
had  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the  mirror  over  the 
mantelpiece  she  realised  that  it  was  from  her 
self  that  she  particularly  wanted  to  escape. 


76  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Excellent  technique,"  M.  Vailliant  remarked. 
"  But  an  exhibition  of  paintings — that  is  a  great 
undertaking.  One  of  the  big  houses  will  take  you 
up  one  day  and  make  your  vogue.  There  is  no 
hurry." 

"  It  was  mother  who  was  speaking  of  the  ex 
hibition,  not  I,"  said  Henriette  casually.  "  You 
came  to  see  my  sister's  charcoals." 

"  So  I  did,"  agreed  the  dealer.  "  Charcoals 
are  more  in  keeping  with  the  modest  pretensions 
of  my  establishment.  Quick  returns  and  small 
profits,  as  they  say  at  the  Bon  Marche." 

"  You  will  stretch  a  point  for  her,  won't  you?  " 
said  Henriette,  as  she  drew  aside  to  allow  him 
to  return  to  the  other  room.  "  She's  worked  so 
hard  and  it  means  so  much  to  her." 

But  Helen  had  overheard.  A  dash  of  red  shot 
into  her  cheeks,  as  her  shoulders  gave  a  nervous 
shrug.  The  dealer  looked  from  the  beautiful 
to  the  plain  girl  with  that  sense  of  contrast  be 
tween  the  two  which  Helen  had  felt  a  thousand 
times. 

"Where  do  I  begin?"  he  asked,  almost  per 
functorily. 

Some  one  had  told  Helen  that  one  should  blow 
one's  own  trumpet  to  an  art  dealer;  that  many 
an  artist  had  been  started  on  a  career  by  making 
the  most  of  his  personality.  But  when  she  was 
conscious  of  how  poor  her  drawings  were  she 
could  not  play  the  herald  of  her  own  skill.  As  for 


AT  MERVAUX  77 

personality,  one  must  have  something  to  start 
with. 

"  Those  four  I  picked  out  for  the  least  bad,'* 
she  said,  handing  them  to  him. 

Not  a  sign  on  the  dealer's  face,  as  he  looked 
them  through,  while  her  temples  throbbed. 

"  More  academic  than  the  one  I  had  seen — 
better  drawing,  but "  he  shook  his  head. 

The  throbbing  ceased.  Helen  knew  the  truth. 
There  would  be  no  exhibition.  She  felt  faint; 
there  was  no  heart  left  in  her. 

"And  these?"  asked  M.  Vailliant,  looking  at 
a  time-coloured  board  on  top  of  a  pile  on  a  chair. 

"  Discarded.  They  were  too  awful — some  of 
them  just  dashed  off  for  fun." 

"Oh!" 

M.  Vailliant  spread  his  legs  as  he  bent  over 
the  pile;  he  puffed  out  his  lips  and  sucked  them 
in,  his  only  sign  of  emotion,  as  he  began  separat 
ing  the  drawings  into  two  piles.  Then  he  applied 
the  same  process  to  those  on  the  table,  without 
question  or  comment.  Helen  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  him.  She  was  dizzy  with  curiosity 
and  hope.  When  he  was  through,  still  silent 
like  some  general  over  a  war-map,  this  master 
of  artistic  fate,  who  knew  that  the  real  master 
was  the  public  who  paid  his  rent,  made  a  single 
pile  of  those  which  he  had  chosen. 

"  And  these?  "  He  found  he  had  missed  some 
against  the  wall  behind  a  portiere. 


7  8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Oh,  cartoons  I  call  them — not  a  bit  worth 
while !  "  said  Helen.  "  Caricatures,  perhaps.  I 
just  did  them  for  the  sport  of  it." 

M.  Vailliant  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  He 
went  through  the  cartoons  twice,  still  keeping  up 
that  motion  of  his  lips  as  if  he  were  alternately 
blowing  soap  bubbles  and  sucking  in  a  string. 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  etching?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.     I'd  like  it,  but— I "  gasped  Helen. 

"  I  would  if  I  were  you,"  he  said,  so  very 
matter-of-factly  that  she  was  puzzled.  "  Ever 
tried  painting?  " 

"  I — yes "  she  faltered.  His  shrewd  eyes 

were  looking  at  her  sharply. 

"  Have  you  anything  that  you've  done?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it's  awful — just  splotches  of  colour. 
I  see  colour  that  way.  Shall  I  get  it?  "  she  asked. 

"Why  not?  Let's  see  the  whole  shop  while 
we  are  at  it." 

Helen  ran  upstairs,  wondering  if  he  were  mak 
ing  fun  of  her.  Not  one  word  of  praise  had  he 
spoken.  He  had  given  no  sign  of  enthusiasm. 
Yet  he  had  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  tried  etch 
ing  and  wanted  to  see  this  painting  which  she 
drew  from  under  a  pile  of  clothes  on  the  cupboard 
shelf.  Well,  if  the  great  art  dealer  had  come 
from  Paris  to  see  the  whole  shop,  then  he  should 
see  it.  Let  him  be  amused.  She  did  not  care. 
He  could  not  hurt  her  feelings;  he  should  not 
see  that  she  minded  when  he  told  her  the  worst. 


AT  MERVAUX  79 

"  Helen's  painting  is  only  for  fun,"  Henriette 
was  explaining  to  M.  Vailliant  as  they  waited  for 
Helen's  return.  "  Please  don't  be  too  critical. 
She  is  very  sensitive." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  realise  that  she  is  not  a  serious 
painter  like  you,  Mademoiselle.  I  thought  I 
should  like  to  see  what  ideas  of  colour  she  had. 
Why  not?"  M.  Vailliant  mused,  as  he  picked 
out  two  from  the  pile  of  charcoals  on  the  table 
and  laid  them  on  top  in  a  sort  of  bored,  add-six- 
and-multiply-by-four  manner. 

When  Helen  returned  with  her  painting,  a  little 
thing  of  a  wet  shepherd  and  his  dog  in  a  burst  of 
soft,  apologetic  sunlight  through  the  mist,  he  took 
it  from  her  with  a  casual  nod  and  having  set  it 
on  the  mantelpiece  stepped  slowly  backward  and 
resumed  his  lip-movements,  which  he  interrupted 
long  enough  to  ask  Helen  if  she  had  had  any  les 
sons  in  painting. 

"  I've  only  watched  Henriette  and  taken  some 
of  her  colours  and  splotched,  as  I  call  it,"  she 
replied  almost  defiantly. 

But  he  only  muttered,  "  Impressionistic!  "  be 
tween  his  puffs  and  suckings. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  should  say!"  put  in 
Henriette. 

"  I  know  it!  "  exclaimed  Helen,  with  an  abrupt 
ness  that  startled  him  out  of  his  mannerism  into 
an  intense  glance  at  her.  She  was  laughing,  her 
chin  up,  the  regular  teeth  showing  in  a  white 


8o  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

line.  If  ever  eyes  had  invited  any  critic  to  shoot 
his  sharpest  darts  they  were  hers.  "  And  the  ex 
hibition?"  she  demanded.  "Shall  we  hold  it 
in  the  Salon  itself  or  at  the  Louvre?" 

IVi.  Vailliant  opened  his  mouth  as  if  he  were 
abouf  to  sa^  something  emotional;  then  rubbed 
his  chin  and  stepped  to  one  side  to  have  another 
look  at  the  painting. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  think  it  is  as  good  as  Millet 
— not  quite,"  Helen  proceeded,  forcing  her 
measure  a  trifle.  "  Isn't  it  wonderful  to  find  a 

genius  at  Mervaux  so  unexpect "  She  broke 

off  her  satire  helplessly. 

"Quite!"  said  M.  Vailliant,  looking  at  her 
and  rubbing  his  chin  again.  "  I'll  put  the  painting 
on  the  back  wall  to  lighten  up  the  gallery — good 
contrast,  line  and  colour,"  he  went  on.  "  This 
is  the  lot  I  have  chosen  for  the  exhibition,"  he 
said,  indicating  the  pile  on  the  table. 

"  You  mean  it!     You  mean  it!  " 

But  the  smile  on  M.  Vailliant's  face  told  her 
without  words  that  he  did;  and  reaching  across 
the  table,  in  her  quick  impulse,  she  took  his  hands 
in  hers.  He  felt  their  pressure  tighten  so  that 
his  soft  palms  were  almost  doubled  over  as,  un 
heeding  her  mother's  exclamation  at  the  action, 
she  demanded: 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  ought  to  go  and  learn 
to  be  a  nurse,  or  can  I  make  my  living  drawing 
these  things  ?  "  And  as  suddenly  as  she  had  seized 


AT  MERVAUX  81 

his  hands  she  drew  away  and  spread  out  hers  in 
an  appeal:  "  Honest!  No  nice  little  phrases,  but 
honest!  " 

"Nursing!"  exclaimed  the  dealer,  lifting  his 
hands  with  outstretched  fingers,  horror  written 
on  his  face.  "  Giving  sick  people  medicine  and 
adjusting  bandages !  You,  my  girl!  No!  Who 
ever  suggested  it?" 

She  seemed  to  draw  nearer,  though  she  stood 
motionless,  such  was  the  intensity  of  her  inquiry. 

"A  living,  I  mean!  I  must  decide!  I  can't 
stand  it  any  longer!  " 

M.  Vailliant  rubbed  his  chin  again  and  became 
the  business  man. 

"  I'm  willing  to  give  you  the  chance,"  he  said. 
"  We'll  hold  the  exhibition — provided  there  isn't 
war.  War !  That's  the  end  of  everything — no 
art  sold  then.  And  the  news  is  bad,  very  bad 
to-day.  Yes,  I'll  give  the  exhibition  if  you  will 
agree  to  terms.  Talking  business  and  no  nonsense, 
now." 

The  terms  were  that  he  should  have  the  dis 
posal  of  all  her  work  for  three  years  on  the 
regular  commission  basis.  Helen  agreed  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  hollow  in  her  own  ears. 

"  If  there  were  not  a  prospect  of  war "  He 

looked  again  at  the  painting.  "  Well,  even  if 
there  is  going  to  be  war  I'll  buy  these  two  top 
drawings  and  the  painting  for  a  thousand  francs. 
Check  now.  Do  you  agree?  " 


82  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Then  M.  Vailliant  permitted  himself  to  smile 
without  rubbing  his  chin;  and  he  kept  on  smiling 
as  he  wrapped  up  the  painting  and  the  charcoals. 

"  I  think  we'll  make  them  go,"  he  said.  "  If 
there  isn't  war  I'll  come  down  and  get  the  others 
for  the  show  and  we'll  have  a  talk  together,  young 
woman,  about  the  future.  If  there  is  war  " — he 
gave  his  shoulders  a  Gallic  shrug.  "  I  go  to 
join  the  colours.  Who  knows?  There  is  only 
France,  then." 

Leaving  behind  a  contract  and  a  check  and  a 
young  woman  still  and  wide-eyed,  he  rode  away. 
Not  until  he  was  out  of  the  grounds  did  he  per 
mit  himself  a  long-drawn  breath  of  satisfaction, 
as  he  leaned  back  on  the  cushions  and  lighted  a 
cigarette,  this  cold  trader  in  art. 

"  My  emotion  got  away  from  me  again!  "  he 
said.  "  I'll  never  be  a  real  dealer  if  I  can't 
control  it.  Why,  if  you  discovered  a  Rembrandt 
you  oughtn't  to  let  on !  It  didn't  matter  with  that 
girl,  though.  Nice  chateau.  Mother  seemed 
well-to-do,  but  how  eager  the  girl  was  for  the 
thousand  francs !  One  never  knows.  Probably 
oughtn't  to  have  mentioned  etching.  Better  for 
her  to  stick  to  charcoals  and  make  a  vogue.  My 
enthusiasm  again  1  Splotches  of  colour,  as  she 
says — not  enough.  But  I  think  there  is  more  to 
come.  As  for  the  other's  painting — faint  stuff, 
without  soul;  teacher-taught-me  stuff — pouf !  But 
if  Mile.  Helen  only  had  her  sister's  beauty  I'd 


AT  MERVAUX  83 

have  a  dry  point  of  her  for  the  exhibition,  intro 
duce  her  about — surely  would  be  a  go.  But  no 
beautiful  woman  can  ever  paint.  Everybody  ad 
mires  her  so  much  as  a  subjective  work  of  art 
that  she  can  never  improve  in  her  objective  art. 
Why  should  she?  One  good  thing  that  Mile. 
Helen  is  so  plain — no  danger  of  her  ever  marry 
ing.  She's  suffered,  that's  it — that's  the  quality  you 
must  have !  And  the  likeness  in  voice  between 
those  two  girls,  except  when  she  was  laughing  or 
became  emotional.  Then  she  was  rather  attrac 
tive.  The  fire  in  her,  her  talent,  shone  out  of 
her  eyes  and  made  you  forget  how  plain  she  is. 
She  wouldn't  be  so  plain,  either,  if  it  weren't  for 
the  nose.  Some  enemy  wished  that  nose  on  her! 
Well,  I  made  her  happy.  Think  of  that,  you 
hard-headed  Parisian,  you  brought  triumph  for 
that  girl!" 

Triumph  was  not  the  word  to  describe  Helen's 
feelings  after  M.  Vailliant's  departure,  as  in  the 
reaction  of  exhaustion,  which  required  that  she 
dab  the  moisture  out  of  her  eyes,  she  leaned 
against  the  wall.  Relief,  joy,  gratitude ! 
Through  a  mist  she  saw  her  mother  and  Hen- 
riette  looking  at  her,  their  strange,  puzzled  ex 
pression  not  defined.  She  grasped  only  the  fact 
of  them  and  their  nearness.  All  rancour  had 
passed  out  of  her  heart.  Her  vitality  surging 
back,  she  put  her  arms  impetuously  around  her 
mother's  neck  and  kissed  her. 


84  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Don't  choke  me !  "  gasped  Madame  Ribot. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to !  But  I  shall  you,  Hen- 
riette!  "  and  she  embraced  her  sister,  in  turn. 

"  I  should  say  you  would!  "  gasped  Henriette. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  repose  is  foreign  to  your 
nature,"  said  her  mother. 

"  It  must  be,"  returned  Helen,  as  she  released 
Henriette.  "  Oh,  I've  been  ugly  to  you  some 
times,  because  I  couldn't  help  drawing  and  knew 
I  ought  to,  but  I'll  never  be  again!  It's  all 
too  good.  I  want  to  be  alone  with  it!  " 

Emancipation  was  the  real  word.  She  went 
forth  into  the  open  air,  freed  from  the  cage,  to 
test  her  wings.  More  strands  of  hair  loosing 
as  she  raced  along,  she  struck  the  fields  and 
through  the  village,  calling  out  to  all  the  people 
she  knew,  but  not  stopping  to  talk,  and  on  up  to  a 
hilltop,  where  the  plotted  glory  of  the  farmlands 
lay  before  her,  with  the  fields  of  grain  waving 
gold. 

A  thousand  francs !  was  her  mundane  thought. 
She  could  live  on  that  a  long  time  in  Paris,  draw 
ing  and  studying.  It  did  not  matter  how  plain 
she  was.  She  might  have  a  nose  as  big  as  a 
prize  potato  and  yellow  eyes  and  rat  teeth. 
People  were  not  going  to  look  at  her,  but  at  her 
pictures.  Her  face  need  never  hurt  her  again. 
She  did  not  know  that  she  had  a  face  when  she 
was  drawing.  She  was  young,  with  the  long  span 
of  years  stretching  straight  before  her — straight, 


AT  MERVAUX  85 

straight,  like  the  great  main  roads  of  France! 
It  was  all  clear — unless  war  came.  But  it  could 
not  come.  It  was  too  hideous  a  thought.  The 
world  was  too  beautiful  to  be  drenched  with 
blood;  too  wise  to  be  so  foolish. 

Returning  homeward  she  thought  of  many 
things;  even  of  that  seventeenth  cousin  and  how 
she  would  like  to  do  a  charcoal  of  him.  She 
would,  while  Henriette  painted  him.  With  no 
idea  of  the  time  that  had  elapsed,  dust-covered, 
a  rent  in  her  gown  from  a  thorn-bush,  she  burst 
in  on  her  mother  and  sister,  who  were  halfway 
through  dinner. 

"You  are  a  sight!"  said  Madame  Ribot. 
"  Do  change  before  you  sit  down!  " 

Upstairs  in  her  room  she  looked  into  her 
mirror  with  a  new  sense  of  defiance. 

"  Oh,  you  are  plain,  but  do  you  think  that 
matters?"  She  held  her  hands  up  in  front  of 
her  face.  "  Five  fingers  like  everybody  else  and 
they  can  hold  a  crayon  or  a  brush!  Silly!" 
She  laughed  again  and  the  mirror  laughed  back 
in  the  glorious  secret  of — triumph  was  the  word, 
this  time. 

"  M.  Valliant  must  really  think  highly  of 
your  charcoals,"  said  Henriette  at  table,  "  or  he 
wouldn't  have  taken  the  painting." 

'  Yes,  that  was  very  surprising,"  said  Madame 
Ribot. 

"  But  remember  I   got  the  thousand   francs  1 


86  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Isn't  that  the  proof  of  the  pudding  from  an  art 
dealer.  I'll  set  up  a  studio  in  Paris,  a  tiny  one 
in  a  garret,  and  get  my  own  meals — thrifty  me ! 
And  I'll  be  away  from  home,  mother,  as  much  as 
if  I  were  nursing — I  mean,  I'll  be  independent, 
as  I  ought  to  be." 

She  went  on  talking  about  her  plans,  uncon 
scious  that  Henriette  and  even  her  mother  were 
slightly  inattentive. 


CHAPTER   VII 

A    FULL-FACE    PORTRAIT 

BUT  the  war  did  come.     It  came,  perhaps, 
to  teach  the  foolish  people  of  a  beautiful 
world    how    beautiful    it    was    and    how 
foolish  they  were. 

Helen  did  not  have  to  wait  on  the  note  from 
M.  Vailliant  to  know  that  there  would  be  no 
exhibition.  The  war  had  killed  her  little  ambi 
tion,  along  with  millions  of  others.  Widespread 
human  tragedy  enveloped  the  personal  thought. 
Some  other  person  in  some  other  age  seemed  to 
have  done  those  charcoals,  which  still  lay  stacked 
on  the  corner  table  in  the  sitting-room.  Her 
thoughts  went  forth  with  the  able-bodied  villagers 
who  had  left  their  harvests  to  fight  for  France. 
Their  going  was,  as  yet,  Mervaux's  only  direct 
contact  with  the  war.  The  sky  remained  the 
same;  the  sunshine  was  equally  glorious;  the 
shade  equally  pleasant  at  mid-day;  and  Jacqueline 
was  making  equally  good  omelets. 

What  were  the  Ribots  to  do?  The  girls 
thought  that  they  ought  to  try  to  help  France. 
Everybody  ought  when  France  was  about  to  fight 

87 


88  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

for  her  life.  But  Madame  Ribot  decided  to  the 
contrary.  She  was  irritated  with  the  war  and  she 
meant  that  it  should  trouble  her  as  little  as 
possible. 

"  But  not  to  be  in  Paris  in  a  time  like  this !  " 
protested  Henriette. 

"How  lucky  to  be  out  of  Paris!"  said 
Madame  Ribot.  "  All  the  trains  full  of  soldiers, 
and  there  will  be  trouble  about  passes,  General 
Rousseau  says." 

She  placed  great  reliance  on  the  General.  He 
said  that  there  was  no  danger.  This  time  the 
tables  would  be  turned  on  the  Prussians.  She, 
too,  believed  in  a  French  victory.  It  was  not 
as  it  had  been  in  '70.  The  French  were  ready. 
Where  could  the  war  disturb  her  as  little  as  at 
Mervaux,  in  the  lap  of  the  hills  a  mile  away 
from  the  main  road? 

"  Then  I'll  go,  mother,"  said  Helen.  The  ob 
jections  to  Henriette's  going  to  Paris  could  not 
apply  to  her. 

"  No,  we  shall  all  stay  here,"  Madame  Ribot 
replied. 

"  But  I  have  my  thousand  francs,"  said  Helen. 
"  I'll  run  up  for  only  two  or  three  days." 

"  No.  You  would  not  go  when  I  thought  it 
best,"  said  Madame  Ribot  pettishly.  "  Now 
when  I  need  you,  you  want  to  go.  You  were 
always  very  contrary." 

"  Oh — I — forgive  me !     I  did  not  know  that 


A  FULL-FACE  PORTRAIT  89 

you  thought  of  it  in  that  way — that  you  needed 
me." 

"  We  must  all  be  together.  I  should  worry 
about  you." 

"  Of  course  you  would !  I  didn't  think  of  that. 
Oh,  mother!  " 

It  was  something  new  in  her  mother's  voice 
which  sent  her  across  the  room  to  put  her  arm 
around  her  mother's  neck  and  press  her  own 
cheek  against  hers.  Helen  had  been  hungry  for 
affection  all  her  life,  plain  girls  being  quite  human 
and  wanting  what  they  do  not  receive.  In  answer 
she  had  a  pressure  of  her  hand  which  was  real, 
and  she  kissed  her  mother  again  and  again  on  the 
cheek.  Perhaps  her  mother  had  always  loved 
her,  but  had  not  shown  it. 

Madame  Ribot  felt  the  tight  grip  of  her 
daughter's  hand  with  a  sense  of  reassurance. 
There  was  something  strong  about  Helen.  She 
would  be  dependable  in  a  crisis. 

"If  we  stay  here  together  and  don't  trouble 
the  war,  probably  the  war  will  not  trouble  us," 
Madame  Ribot  continued.  It  was  the  maxim  ex 
pressive  of  her  temperament. 

"Oh!  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  in  that  way!  " 
Helen  gasped. 

"  Besides,  if  you  went  to  Paris  and  got  into 
trouble  I  should  have  to  come  up  and  get  you 
out."  She  was  weary  of  having  her  daugh 
ter's  arm  around  her  neck  and  feeling  that 


90  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

strange  resentment  against  the  world  which  she 
always  suffered  after  looking  long  at  Helen's 
features. 

Helen  drew  away,  her  peculiar  sensitiveness 
conscious  of  the  old  barrier. 

Life  for  the  next  few  days  continued  much 
as  usual  at  the  chateau,  so  far  as  Madame  Ribot 
and  Henriette  were  concerned.  Henriette  went 
on  painting.  But  Helen  could  not  draw.  She 
wandered  over  the  fields,  her  mind  ever  on  the 
war.  She  was  with  the  Belgians  at  Liege;  with 
the  French  in  Alsace.  All  three  wondered,  as 
the  time  approached,  if  the  seventeenth  cousin 
would  come  to  Mervaux. 

"  Hardly,"  said  Henriette. 

"  But  I  think  he  will,"  said  Helen. 

"  Why  should  he?     It's  war  time." 

"Yes,  why?"  repeated  Helen,  with  a  search 
ing  look  at  Henriette,  who  lowered  her  eyes  in 
a  way  that  her  sister  well  understood.  Many 
young  men  had  come  to  Mervaux  for  the  same 
reason.  Many  had  gone  away  trying  to  conceal 
their  dejection.  Henriette  had  enjoyed  the  visits, 
but  not  more  than  Madame  Ribot  who,  looking 
on,  lived  over  her  own  successes. 

"  Henriette  does  not  know  yet  what  it  means 
to  fall  in  love,"  thought  her  mother.  "  I  hope 
that  she  will  not  for  a  few  years  more.  A 
woman  may  do  that  only  once.  And  Helen  had 
not  fallen  in  love,  either.  Poor  Helen !  "  At 


A  FULL-FACE  PORTRAIT  91 

intervals  she  could  be  sorry  for  herself  by  being 
sorry  for  Helen. 

It  was  no  surprise  to  her  that  the  war  did 
not  keep  the  seventeenth  cousin  away  from 
Mervaux  or  that  his  note  was  addressed  to  Hen- 
riette.  As  the  mails  were  now  so  irregular,  he 
wrote,  he  would  not  wait  for  a  reply,  but  would 
arrive  on  the  morning  of  the  day  set,  and  should 
he  find  that  the  war  interfered  with  their  ar 
rangements  he  could  return  to  Paris  in  the  after 
noon.  Helen  rather  waited  to  hear  that  he  had 
included  his  regards  to  her,  but  Henriette  made 
no  mention  of  it. 

Phil  had  had  a  glimpse  of  an  English  home 
and  now  he  was  to  have  one  of  a  home  in  France, 
an  intimacy  which  seldom  falls  to  the  lot  of  the 
tourist.  Smiling  as  she  knew  how,  a  hostess  with 
the  charm  of  French  manner,  Madame  Ribot  re 
ceived  him,  taking  in,  without  seeming  to  do  so, 
every  detail,  from  the  state  of  his  nails  to  the 
cut  of  his  clothes.  Her  judgment  of  people  was 
that  of  appearance  and  manner  and  position. 
There  were  Americans  who  were  nice  and  who 
were  not  nice  and  Englishmen  and  Frenchmen 
who  were  nice  and  who  were  not  nice.  She  would 
have  preferred  a  nice  villain  to  an  ill-mannered 
saint.  For  she  had  decided  when  quite  young  that 
it  was  not  worth  while  wasting  one's  time  with 
anybody  who  was  not  nice.  At  the  same  time, 
she  insisted  that  she  was  not  a  snob  and  the  great 


92  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

appeal  to  her  of  the  French  was  their  democracy. 
What  she  really  liked  about  the  French  was  their 
politeness,  their  cooking,  their  novels  and  their 
art  of  living.  She  decided  that  Phil  was  one  of 
the  nice  Americans,  though  she  had  foreseen  that 
he  must  be  or  Henriette  would  not  have  wanted 
to  invite  him  to  Mervaux.  Helen  never  invited 
anybody.  When  quite  young  she  had  failed  to 
distinguish  between  the  nice  and  the  unnice 
people. 

The  morning  train  from  Paris  to  Mervaux  had 
been  taken  off  and  the  afternoon  train  was  late. 
Henriette  had  met  Phil  at  the  station  and  Helen 
was  away  from  the  house  when  they  arrived. 
After  his  glimpse  of  armed  Europe  rushing  to 
conflict,  after  seeing  and  feeling  the  straining 
effort  of  the  nations  with  every  human  being 
drawn  into  the  maelstrom  of  one  emotion,  he 
had  haidly  conceived  it  possible  that  nature  could 
have  tucked  away  any  three  people  in  a  spot  so 
completely  sequestered  from  the  war. 

He  would  not  have  come  to  Mervaux  if  it  had 
not  been  for  Henriette.  He  had  admitted  as 
much  to  himself  going  down  on  the  train.  When 
a  man  has  seen  a  girl  for  an  afternoon  and  a 
morning  and  keeps  rehearsing  the  incidents  of 
their  meeting  on  his  first  holiday  in  Europe,  he 
may  well  look  forward  to  seeing  her  again  with  a 
certain  personal  curiosity.  Sometimes  the  second 
impression  is  convincing  of  a  temporary  squint  in 


A  FULL-FACE  PORTRAIT  93 

the  eye  at  the  time  of  the  first.  He  had  remarked 
on  the  way  from  Truckleford  to  London  that  he 
had  been  hit  rather  in  the  spirit  of  banter;  but 
four  weeks  later  he  was  in  need  of  disillusioning. 
Though  parenthetically  it  may  be  said  that  he 
did  not  put  the  situation  to  himself  in  such  bold 
terms. 

The  stroll  through  the  grounds  of  the  chateau 
in  the  hour  before  dinner  should  have  brought 
the  disillusioning  process  well  into  being.  But 
if  it  had  even  started  it  was  arrested  when  Hen- 
riette  picked  a  rosebud  and  fastened  it  in  his 
buttonhole,  an  old  form  of  illusioning  or  of  rein 
forcing  an  illusion  which  loses  nothing  of  its 
charm  if  the  young  woman  be  beautiful  and  smiles 
up  at  you  when  the  rose  is  in  place. 

"  We  shall  begin  the  portrait  to-morrow,  shan't 
we?"  she  asked,  as  they  turned  leisurely  back 
toward  the  house. 

"  You  still  want  to  do  it,  despite  the  war? 
Won't  it  take  some  time?"  he  said. 

"  No  longer  than  if  there  were  no  war. 
Mother  will  not  let  you  go  away  immediately. 
Besides,  didn't  I  hear  you  say  that  you  could 
not  get  a  sailing  for  some  time?  At  least,  we 
can  make  a  start." 

"  I'm  quite  ready,"  he  agreed.  He  was  ready, 
even  if  the  portrait  took  much  longer  than  ex 
pected. 

"  And  I  keen  to  begin,  painter  fashion,  when 


94  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

I  have  a  subject  that  I  enjoy.  Then  the  likeness 
to  the  ancestor — you  see,  the  Sanfords  very  much 
want  one  of  you  to  hang  opposite  the  ancestor's. 
I  promised  it  to  them  and  I  thought  I'd  make  a 
copy  of  the  ancestor  to  send  to  your  father. 
Would  you  like  it?  Would  he?  We  cousins 
when  we  are  seventeenth  through  such  a  grand 
old  ancestor  must  stand  together." 

Phil  tried  to  find  words  of  acceptance  adequate 
to  the  offer. 

'The    favour   is   really   on   my   side;   it's   an 
opportunity,"  she  pursued. 

He  was  conscious  that  she  was  looking  intently 
at  his  profile,  and  when  he  glanced  toward  her 
she  lowered  her  long  lashes  and  raised  her  hand 
to  brush  back  a  strand  of  hair  which  was  really 
not  much  out  of  place.  Then  she  looked  back  at 
him  thoughtfully,  as  one  who  had  been  engrossed 
in  a  problem. 

"  I'm  not  sure  but  a  profile  one  would  be 
better,"  she  said. 

"  I  thought  we  had  settled  that  point,"  he 
parried. 

"  It  would  make  you  different  from  the 
ancestor." 

"  That's  an  advantage,  but " 

"  Well " 

"  Can't  you  make  it  full  face?  The  ancestor's 
not  quite  that." 

They  had  stopped  and  were  looking  directly  at 


A  FULL-FACE  PORTRAIT  95 

each  other  in  the  enjoyment  of  this  verbal 
fencing. 

"  As  you  are  now?  "  she  suggested. 

"Exactly!" 

"  I  think  it  would  be  excellent,"  she  admitted, 
after  a  pause  of  further  thoughtful  observation, 
squinting  her  eyes  ever  so  little,  then  opening 
them  wide  as  she  passed  final  judgment. 

"Good!     It's  so  much  more  companionable." 

"  Yes,  we  can  talk  as  I  paint." 

"Which  is  bound  to  give  the  subject  life!" 
he  concluded,  as  they  started  on. 

"  And  the  painter,  too,"  she  added. 

As  they  drew  near  the  house  he  saw  Helen 
standing  in  the  doorway.  She  seemed  not  to  see 
him,  but  bent  down  to  pull  some  burrs  off  her 
gown  and  then  ran  her  hand  with  a  sweeping 
motion  across  her  forehead.  She  had  watched 
the  scene  between  Henriette  and  Philip  on  the 
walk  and  to  her  it  had  the  familiarity  of  an 
habitual  process  of  the  life  of  her  family.  It 
was  not  the  first  time  that  she  had  had  to  greet 
a  guest  who  accepted  her  only  because  she  was 
Henriette's  sister. 

Her  self-consciousness  was  not  minimised  by 
her  disarray  after  her  walk,  though  its  depths 
were  in  the  recollection  of  her  tempers  at  Truckle- 
ford  and  her  absurd  action  about  the  portrait 
and  of  having  yielded  to  tears  in  her  room,  all 
as  part  of  some  strange  influence  which  she  could 


96  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

not  understand.  Without  calling  to  him  she  ad 
vanced,  with  something  of  the  manner  of  a  cul 
prit  who  expects  reproof. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  you  at  Mervaux,"  she 
said,  holding  out  her  hand. 

Phil  was  reminded  with  a  start  almost  of  fresh 
discovery  how  like  Henriette's  was  Helen's  voice. 
But  her  face,  without  a  sign  of  expression,  seemed 
characterless.  How  could  this  girl  belong  to  the 
same  family  as  Henriette  and  the  well-groomed 
mother?  At  the  same  time  he  felt  a  certain  pity 
for  her.  She  excited  his  curiosity  in  that  awk 
ward  moment  of  silence  after  she  had  spoken 
her  set  phrase  of  welcome. 

"  You  look  tired,  Helen.  You  have  walked 
too  far,"  said  Henriette,  solicitously  slipping  her 
arm  in  her  sister's. 

This,  too,  was  as  something  foreseen  by  Helen; 
the  next  speech  in  the  play.  She  was  unrespon 
sive  at  first,  her  own  arms  hanging  by  her  side. 
Then  spasmodically,  as  one  who  comes  out  of  a 
fit  of  absent-mindedness,  she  raised  her  hand 
and  pressed  it  over  Henriette's  against  her  waist, 
a  look  as  for  pardon  in  her  eyes.  It  was 
not  for  Phil  to  note  all  the  little  signs  that 
count.  He  had  looked  away  from  Helen  to 
Henriette. 

"Some  of  your  pictures?"  he  said  to  Hen 
riette  when  they  entered  the  house,  nodding 
toward  the  walls. 


A  FULL-FACE  PORTRAIT  97 

"  Yes.  Mother  insists  on  a  permanent  exhibi 
tion,"  she  replied  deprecatingly. 

He  went  from  one  to  another,  admiring,  lis 
tening  to  her  comments,  and  when  they  had  been 
through  the  rooms  he  turned  to  her,  saying: 

"  It's  very  wonderful  to  me.  I  stand  a  little 
in  awe  of  you — you  who  have  been  in  the  Salon. 
I  have  great  luck  in  cousins  and  I  am  luckier  still 
in  having  an  invitation  to  Mervaux." 

She  had  not  expected  him  to  speak  of  the  pic 
tures  in  any  critical  fashion.  How  could  he  know 
anything  about  art?  She  liked  his  simple  attitude. 
It  was  always  more  satisfactory  than  that  of 
those  who  pretended  to  know  and  did  not. 

"  And  it's  time  for  me  to  dress  for  dinner," 
she  said,  "  though  you  need  not  hurry.  Dinner 
at  eight." 

He  had  not  thought  of  Helen  while  he  had 
been  looking  at  the  pictures.  After  Henriette 
had  gone  he  saw  Helen  huddled  in  the  depths  of 
a  big  chair  in  a  corner  half  hidden  by  the  open 
door,  reading.  With  the  brilliant  light  of  Hen 
riette  departed,  smaller  lights  became  visible. 
Helen  also  was  his  cousin.  But  he  felt  a  peculiar 
awkwardness  in  speaking  to  her.  He  was  even 
afraid  that  one  of  her  tempers  might  break  on 
him.  He  hesitated,  as  he  thought  of  something 
to  say,  and  his  glance  fell  on  the  pile  of  char 
coal  drawings  on  the  side  table. 

"Are  those  your  drawings?"  he  asked. 


9 8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  I  plead  guilty,"  she  responded  equivocally. 

"  May  Hook?" 

"  Of  course.  Please  do,  if  you  would  like  to," 
she  said.  "  They  explain  themselves,"  she  added, 
without  rising,  "  and  it's  at  your  own  risk." 

He  took  up  one  of  the  drawings. 

"  But  I  think  it  corking!  " 

"  Honestly?  "  she  asked.  "  Let  me  see  which 
one  it  is!  "  She  sprang  up  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  suddenly  changed  into  a  being  of  glow 
ing  vitality. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

ANOTHER  PHASE  OF   HELEN 

POSSIBLY  Philip  did  know  something  about 
art,  as  the  result  of  a  good  deal  of  reading 
and  his  visits  to  galleries.     Possibly,  too, 
he  had  an  innate  appreciation  of  it.     To  Helen, 
his   interest  had   momentarily   rekindled   the   en 
thusiasm  for  her  work  which  the  war  had  stifled. 
As    they   took   up    drawing   after    drawing,    she 
rather  than  he  was  the  critic. 

"  Bad,  but  I  like  that  part,  there!  "  she  went 
on.  '  This  is  sensational — not  really  good. 
Oh,  cusses !  Every  time  I  look  at  that  one  it 
seems  worse,  and  I  thought  it  was  so  good  at  the 
start!  Smudgy,  but  if  you  hold  it  off  like  that 
it's  more  like  what  I  meant  to  do.  One  knows 
what  one  wants  to  do  and  then  one's  stupid 
fingers  will  not." 

He  was  interested  and  more  than  interested, 
if  silent.  He  was  looking  at  her  drawings  and 
not  her  face.  The  effect  was  of  the  quality  of 
her  mind  wrought  by  the  cunning  of  her  hand, 
and  her  voice  was  that  of  Henriette  with  a  more 
emotional  intonation  than  Henriette's,  revealing 
the  quality  which  even  the  cunning  of  her  hand 

99 


ioo  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

could  not  interpret.  There  was  more  than  he  ha<f 
supposed  in  this  cousin. 

"  Haven't  you  ever  exhibited?  "  he  asked. 

As  he  looked  around  it  was  almost  with  the 
expectation  of  seeing  Henriette's  face,  which 
should  go  with  Henriette's  voice  and  the  fervour 
of  her  talk;  Henriette  in  the  glory  of  enthusiasm, 
the  enthusiasm  which  he  knew  she  must  possess 
and  which  he  would  like  to  arouse.  But  it  was 
the  face  of  Helen,  sunburned  and  plain — almost 
too  plain  to  have  done  such  drawings. 

"You  think  that  I  ought  to?"  she  asked 
soberly.  It  was  odd  that  she  should  seek  his 
opinion  when  she  had  had  that  of  M.  Vailliant. 
"  I  was  going  to  when  the  war  came,"  she  went 
on,  still  soberly.  Then  came  the  burst  of  confi 
dence  and  her  features  lighted,  their  mobility 
alive  with  recollection  as  she  told  about  the  scene 
in  the  dining-room,  forgetting  herself,  mimicking 
M.  Vailliant  and  her  own  fears  and  the  climax. 
She  boasted  of  the  thousand  francs.  She  told 
him  what  she  meant  to  do  with  that  perfectly 
enormous  sum;  how  she  was  going  on  drawing  as 
long  as  she  lived,  caring  for  nothing  else. 

"  Why  wasn't  she  always  like  that?  "  Phil  won 
dered.  She  ought  to  let  her  emotions  always 
shine  out  of  her  eyes,  play  in  her  features.  Was 
she  really  plain?  He  was  unconscious  of  it; 
conscious  only  of  her  amazing  vitality  which  had 
a  magnetism  that  made  him  the  kind  of  rapt  lis- 


ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  HELEN     101 

te  er  which  is  the  best  urging  to  another  flow 
of  talk. 

"  Here  you  are  holding  that  drawing  like  a 
waiter  with  a  card  on  a  salver  who  can't  get  my 
lady  to  look  up  from  her  knitting!  "  she  finally 
exclaimed. 

"Then  I'll  look  at  another,"  he  said.  "I 
certainly  have  luck  in  cousins." 

After  her  confidences  the  drawings  had  even 
more  appeal.  He  seemed  to  understand  them 
better;  her  talk  made  him  a  sort  of  comrade  in 
their  making.  But  she  did  not  offer  to  do  a 
charcoal  of  him.  He  suggested  it  himself,  as 
a  companion  souvenir  for  the  portrait  by  Hen- 
riette. 

"A  profile!  "  she  said. 

"  You  choose,"  he  agreed.  He  would  like 
that  better;  and  he  hoped  that  she  would  talk 
about  her  troubles  in  making  her  fingers  obey 
her  mind  while  she  was  doing  it. 

"  I  could  do  it  now!  Twilight  is  just  right  on 
your  face — yes,  yes !  "  She  drew  a  long  breath 
as  she  studied  the  profile  in  a  moment  of  silence, 
which  was-  broken  by  a  voice  which  might  have 
been  her  own. 

"  Haven't  you  loiterers  started  to  dress  yet?  " 
It  was  Henriette  in  the  doorway,  a  warning  finger 
raised.  The  doorway  made  a  perfect  frame 
for  her;  all  surroundings  seemed  to  suit  her.  "  I 
don't  wonder  you  forgot  time  was  passing  if  you 


102  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

caught  Helen  in  one  of  her  enthusiasms,"  she 
added.  "  Did  she  tell  you  how  the  war  stopped 
her  exhibition?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  have  two  portraits  now,"  said 
Phil.  "  I  begin  to  think  well  of  myself !  It 
won't  take  me  ten  minutes  to  dress." 

"Nor  me!"  said  Helen.  UA  wager!  I'll 
be  down  first!"  She  preceded  him,  two  steps 
at  a  time,  up  the  stairs.  "  Do  your  best  and  see  !  " 
she  called,  as  she  darted  into  her  room. 

Her  image  in  the  mirror  confronted  her  and 
she  gave  a  cry  as  of  amazement  at  it,  which, 
however,  did  not  permit  her  to  waste  any  time. 
She  came  out  of  her  room  at  the  same  instant  that 
Phil  opened  his  door,  forgot  her  part  again,  and 
laughing  in  challenge  dashed  past  him  to  the  stair 
way,  calling  over  her  shoulder: 

"  Down  first!     Victory!  " 

What  she  wore  was  something  in  white  to 
Phil,  but  the  figure  in  its  suppleness  and  grace 
— how  like  Henrietta's  it  was! 

Madame  Ribot,  who  had  put  on  her  best  gown 
and  been  an  hour  with  a  maid's  assistance  in  the 
dressing,  sat  the  guest  opposite  her,  feeling  that 
glow  of  satisfaction  which  aroused  many  recol 
lections  at  having  an  agreeable  man  at  the  func 
tion  of  all  functions  to  her — dinner  as  cooked 
by  Jacqueline.  Yet  she  would  have  dressed  with 
equal  care  if  she  had  been  going  to  eat  alone  and 
her  finger-nails  would  have  been  equally  shiny 


ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  HELEN     103 

with  over-attention;  for  self-respect's  sake,  as 
she  would  have  said.  But  all  who  rehearse  like 
an  audience  when  the  curtain  rises. 

Helen  was  silent — her  part.  Plain  girl  in  plain 
gown,  she  might  have  been  the  family  governess 
or  a  companion.  Time  had  drilled  her  well  in  the 
part,  time  with  the  memories  of  pin-pricks  behind 
the  scenes. 

It  was  through  guests  that  Madame  Ribot  kept 
in  touch  with  the  world,  which  was  an  easier 
way  in  this  era  of  her  existence  than  to  go  to  the 
world.  Phil  was  soon  aware  that  she  expected 
him  to  tell  of  his  tour  of  the  warring  nations. 
From  Henriette  came  occasional  questions  and 
from  Helen  an  infrequent  "  Yes,"  as  of  passion 
suppressed,  until  they  came  to  coffee.  Then  she 
let  go  of  herself  with  questions  of  her  own. 

"  Were  the  women  just  as  mad  as  the  men  in 
Germany?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  And  the  men  in  the  troop  trains,  with  '  Nach 
Paris  '  chalked  on  the  wagon  doors — the  men  who 
were  singing,  singing  as  they  went  out  to  kill — 
if  one  had  to  go  alone  up  a  road  to  try  to  murder 
or  be  murdered,  would  he  sing  then?" 

"Hardly!" 

"  And  it  would  be  murder,  then.  It  isn't 
now!" 

'  The  distinction  between  war  and  homicide," 
Phil  replied. 


104  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Helen  was  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table, 
her  chin  cupped  in  her  hands,  all  eyes,  and  eyes  on 
fire.  She  compelled  his  attention. 

"  Did  you  see  any  one  who  was  stopping  to 
think  why  they  were  going  to  war — why?  why? 
Not  what  the  papers  print  and  the  professors  say 
and  the  Kaiser  prays — why  in  their  own  hearts? 
The  reason  that  all  the  other  nonsense 
hides?" 

"  The  Kaiser  tells  them  that  they  are  fighting 
in  defence,"  said  Phil.  "  They  take  their  reasons 
from  him." 

"  Pardon  me,  that  is  no  answer." 

"  Because  the  Germans  are  pigs — all  are !  " 
interjected  Madame  Ribot.  "  I  have  never  met 
one  who  wasn't,  even  their  princes.  They  are 
spoiling  the  Riviera." 

"  Conquest,  though  Rome,  as  I  read  my  his 
tory,  never  called  it  that,"  Phil  went  on,  keeping 
to  Helen's  theme.  "  They  want  their  neighbours' 
fields.  It's  a  get-rich-quick  sort  of  game  in  inter 
nationalism." 

"And  the  French?" 

"  Only  want  to  keep  their  fields,  to  keep  their 
France !  "  he  said.  "  This  was  in  every  face,  it 
seemed  to  me:  to  keep  their  France." 

"  So  the  French  are  in  the  right,  not  because 
we  live  with  them  and  love  them,  but  at  the  very 
bar  of  justice!  "  said  Helen.  "  All  the  peasants 
in  Mervaux  are  in  the  right !  Oh,  I'm  glad  that 


ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  HELEN     105: 

I  am  not  a  German !  And  here  we  sit  over  our 
coffee  so  comfortably  and  those  millions  rush 
ing  to  death !  What  poor  little  mortals  we  are ! 
How  lacking  in  imagination !  Each  with  his  little 
concerns  in  his  own  little  hole — I  grieving  be 
cause  the  war  spoils  my  exhibition!  No  one 
thinks  of  the  agony  of  black  years  for  the  multi 
tude  of  mothers  and  wives.  It  is  too  ghastly! 
Not  one  wants  to  die !  Who  should  want  to  die 
when  the  world  is  so  beautiful?  Yet  they  go  out 
to  die!" 

"Helen,  you  are  overwrought!"  said  her 
mother.  "There  must  be  wars;  there  always 
have  been  wars." 

"  One  might  say  that  about  thistles,"  Helen  re 
plied  half  inaudibly,  staring  at  the  tablecloth. 

"And  what  can  we  do?"  persisted  Madame 
Ribot,  who  had  held  back  her  protests  less  be 
cause  of  the  spell  of  Helen's  fervour  than  from  a 
hostess's  politeness  due  to  Phil's  evident  interest. 
'  Yes,  what  would  you  do,  my  dear?  Become  a 
vivandiere?  Surely  not  nurse !  You  have  ad 
mitted  that  your  nerves  could  not  stand  the  sight 
of  blood—  Madame  Ribot  broke  off.  She 

did  not  like  to  think  of  the  sight  of  blood 
herself. 

"  Perhaps  they  would  now,"  said  Helen  with 
some  determination,  after  a  pause.  "  This  is 
different." 

"  I    am   not   sure !  "    Madame    Ribot    replied 


io6  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

promptly,  for  her  decision  was  made  that  Helen 
should  remain  at  Mervaux  during  the  war. 
*'  And  shan't  we  go  out  of  doors?  " 

"  You  feel  very  deeply,"  said  Phil  to  Helen 
as  they  passed  into  the  grounds  where,  in  utter 
stillness,  the  trees  cast  long  shadows  from  the 
light  of  the  half  moon. 

"  Every  one  does,"  she  replied,  "  only  I  forget 
and  blurt  out  my  feelings.  Perhaps — oh,  that  is 
the  great  hope — the  war  will  do  good  in  its  way 
— good  to  those  who  survive !  " 

"  We'll  not  talk  about  the  war !  "  said  Madame 
Ribot. 

With  the  soft  air  of  a  summer  evening,  the 
sense  of  security  and  seclusion,  the  glow  after  a 
good  meal  and  bedtime  approaching,  Madame 
Ribot  had  not  the  slightest  desire  to  think  of 
horrors.  She  was  content  to  be  as  she  was  and 
where  she  was,  serene,  unworried.  They  were 
not  going  to  speak  of  the  war,  but  they  did,  as 
every  one  would  while  it  lasted,  no  matter  how 
strong  his  resolution.  The  war  was  here  in 
Mervaux,  at  Truckleford,  at  Longfield,  every 
where  and  in  every  mind.  It  was  a  maelstrom, 
drawing  all  thoughts  toward  it. 

''  When  the  troops  come  back  triumphant,  I 
want  to  see  them  march  under  the  Arc  de  Tri- 
omphe,"  Henriette  said.  "  I  hope  it  will  be  in 
the  spring,  when  the  horse-chestnuts  are  in 
bloom." 


ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  HELEN     107 

"  You  are  sure  that  they  will  win? "  Phil 
asked. 

"  Aren't  we  already  in  Alsace  and  aren't  the 
Germans  stopped  at  Liege?  " 

It  did  look  like  early  victory  then.  Hadn't 
General  Joffre  issued  his  manifesto  from  Mul- 
hausen?  But  could  Madame  Ribot  have  fore 
seen  what  was  coming  along  the  great  main  road 
one  day  she  would  not  have  been  so  serene  and 
Helen  would  not  have  felt  that  she  was  pinioned 
in  her  helplessness  in  the  midst  of  tragedy. 

For  Phil  it  was  singularly  restful.  He  had 
been  on  the  go  for  weeks.  He  had  collected 
impressions  without  digesting  them;  and  the 
prospect  of  the  coming  days  at  Mervaux  was 
sufficient  for  him. 

Helen  had  kept  silence  faithfully  after  they 
were  out  of  doors.  As  she  said  good-night  the 
hand  that  she  gave  him  was  strangely  lifeless  and 
her  voice  lacked  its  customary  vibrant  quality. 
When  she  reached  her  room  she  stood  motion 
less  for  a  long  time,  looking  out  at  the  moon. 
The  change  which  the  war  had  wrought  was  not 
the  only  inexplicable  one  that  had  come  over  her. 

"  I  hope  that  he  does  not  stay!  "  she  said  at 
last. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE 

QUITE  a  sensational  thing  happened  in  the 
Ribot  household.  Usually  Madame  Ribot 
had  breakfast  in  her  room  and  about  ten 
went  for  a  walk  in  the  garden.  The  morning 
after  Phil's  arrival  she  was  on  hand  to  pour  cof 
fee  in  the  dining-room  and  to  serve  one  of 
Jacqueline's  omelets. 

"  Mother,  this  is  epochal!  "  said  Henriette. 

"  An  inspiration !  "  said  Madame  Ribot,  who 
could  never  be  accused  of  the  hypocrisy  of  feign 
ing  strenuosity.  She  was  a  frank  advocate  of 
repose  and  it  had  not  deserted  her  even  with  this 
departure  from  custom.  "  I  did  it  for  our  seven 
teenth  cousin.  I  want  him  to  feel  at  home." 

She  liked  the  seventeenth  cousin.  He  was 
good-looking;  he  had  good  manners.  His  Ameri 
can  quality  appealed  to  her  French  quality.  She 
would  have  liked  to  show  him  to  her  friends  as 
a  seventeenth  cousin,  which  would  have  been  proof 
of  the  quality  of  her  own  origin  on  the  American 
side. 

"  You  are  to  stay  as  long  as  you  please,"  she 
went  on.  "  If  Longfield  is  your  American  home 

108 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE       109 

and  Truckleford  your  English  home,  then  Mer- 
vaux  is  your  French." 

"  Not  as  long  as  I  please,"  Phil  replied. 
"  One  must  have  a  sense  of  self-denial." 

"  Very  well  said,"  she  countered.  It  was  worth 
while  coming  down  to  breakfast  to  hear  him  say 
it.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  insist  that  it  be  as  long 
as  the  hostess  pleases.  What  then?" 

Yes,  what  would  he  say  to  that?  Her  shrewd 
eyes  reflected  a  teasing  spark  which  wrhen  she 
was  young  must  have  been  as  effectual  as  Hen- 
riette's. 

"  But  I  might  not  know  the  signs,"  he  said, 
"  and  mistake  my  pleasure  for  yours." 

"  I  should  tell  you." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  think  I  should 
have  to  be  told?"  He  was  enjoying  this  play 
of  words  as  much  as  she. 

"  No,  not  you,  cousin.  You  are  the  kind  to 
whom  one  would  always  hate  to  say  au  revolr 
and  could  never  say  good-bye." 

'  This  is  almost  a  flirtation,"  said  Henriette. 
"  At  least  he  must  stay  till  the  portrait  is  finished. 
We  shall  start  at  once." 

"  I  begin  to  feel  awfully  stuck  on  myself,  as 
we  say  at  home !  "  said  Phil.  "  Do  I  sit  for  both 
portraits  at  the  same  time?  "  he  asked,  turning  to 
Helen. 

Henriette  also  looked  at  her  sister  rather 
quickly.  Helen's  eyes  smiled  above  her  coffee 


no  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

cup,  which  hid  the  lump  of  nose;  they,  too,  had 
a  teasing  spark. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  Oils  take  much  longer 
than  charcoal.  Let  Henriette  get  started  before 
I  butt  in.  Isn't  that  it — butt  in?  " 

"  Yes,  the  correct  American  for  your  mean 
ing — though  a  little  archaic  now — but  not  for 
mine,"  he  said.  "  I'm  ready  for  all  the  artists. 
Let  them  come." 

"  Not  this  morning,"   Helen  concluded. 

She  had  already  put  on  her  sun  hat  and  gone 
when  Madame  Ribot  smilingly  from  the  doorway 
watched  Henriette  and  Phil,  her  easel  under  his 
arm,  going  up  the  path.  The  bordering  trees  of 
the  little  estate  were  on  a  terrace  which  gave  a 
broad  view.  Here  Henriette  set  up  her  easel  and 
put  Phil  in  a  rustic  chair  in  the  position  that 
pleased  her,  his  only  condition  that  he  sit  facing 
so  he  could  watch  her  at  work  being  granted. 
She  was  the  real  picture  to  him;  the  one  that 
made  it  worth  while  to  pose.  He  could  look  past 
her  over  the  fields  rolling  away  to  the  horizon, 
with  the  rows  of  trees  of  the  main  road  march 
ing  across  the  foreground. 

Human  specks  dotted  the  fields,  women,  old 
men,  and  boys  who  had  been  at  work  since  dawn 
harvesting  the  grain,  since  the  able-bodied  men 
were  away  at  war.  A  figure  which  he  recognised 
approached  a  nearby  group.  The  bent  backs 
straightened.  Faintly  he  could  hear  their  voices 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE       in 

as  they  passed  the  time  of  day,  and  then  a  laugh 
all  round  as  Helen  became  one  of  them  in  effort 
as  well  as  in  spirit,  raking  and  binding  the 
sheaves. 

For  the  time  being  he  said  nothing  about  it 
to  Henriette,  but  occasionally  his  glance  stole 
away  from  her  toward  Helen,  who  kept  on  with 
her  labour.  The  breeze  carried  her  voice  and 
laugh,  which  was  like  a  rich  echo  of  Henriette's, 
and  at  length  he  heard  her  singing  a  French  song, 
in  which  the  other  workers  joined.  Time  passed 
rapidly  watching  the  figures  in  the  field  and  Hen 
riette — too  rapidly. 

"  We  are  started,  though  there  is  nothing  to 
see,"  said  Henriette  finally.  "  We  will  rest  till 
after  luncheon." 

The  peasants,  too,  had  stopped  work.  They 
were  seating  themselves  on  the  sheaves  or  sprawl 
ing  on  the  hard,  dry,  yellow  stubble  for  their 
mid-day  meal.  He  heard  them  laugh  at  some 
sally  of  Helen's  before  she  started  across  the 
field  toward  where  he  was  sitting.  Flushed  from 
the  sun  and  exercise,  she  cried  out,  as  she  ap 
proached: 

"  They  say  I  do  it  like  a  veteran !  It  was  great 
fun — and  I  was  helping  France !  " 

Phil  had  been  envying  her  the  exercise  and  told 
her  so. 

"  There's  room  for  volunteers,"  she  suggested. 
And  she  looked  at  him  and  then  at  Henriette. 


ii2  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

*'  I  dare  you  both  to  come  out  there  this  after 
noon  !  "  she  added. 

"  Done — if  your  sister  will  let  me  off !  Will 
you?" 

Henriette  shot  one  of  her  quick  glances  at 
Helen. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  volunteer,  too,"  Helen 
parried. 

"Why  not?     I'm  game!  "  Henriette  replied. 

"Good!  It's  the  best  way  of  helping  that  I 
know.  They  are  very  hard  pressed  to  get  the 
grain  cut  before  it  is  overripe.  It  will  be  straight 
sickling  this  afternoon  on  the  Pigou  patch.  Poor 
Madame  Pigou's  son  is  at  the  front  and  she 
has  only  Jean  who  is  but  ten  to  help,  and  she's 
too  poor  to  hire  a  reaper." 

When  Madame  Ribot  heard  the  plan  she 
smiled  and  nodded  approval,  reminding  Henri 
ette  that  she  must  wear  gloves  in  order  not  to 
blister  her  hands.  She  herself,  under  her  parasol, 
walked  out  to  see  them  begin. 

Madame  Pigou,  with  deep  wrinkles  around 
her  kindly  mouth  and  hands  already  stiffened  by 
labour  at  forty,  protested  at  first. 

"  Such  work  is  not  for  you,"  she  said  to  Hen 
riette.  "  Nothing  takes  it  out  of  your  back  more 
than  sickling,  unless  it's  hoeing." 

"  Oh,  none  of  us  expects  to  be  as  adept  as 
you,"  replied  Henriette,  "  or  as  Helen,  who  has 
a  natural  talent  for  such  things." 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE       113 

14  Mademoiselle  Helene,"  said  Madame  Pigou, 
with  an  affectionate  smile  of  fellowship  at  Helen, 
"  is  one  of  us.  Thank  you  all — thank  you  for  the 
sake  of  Armand.  I  shall  write  him  how  you 
helped,"  she  added. 

"Mind  that  you  don't  overdo!"  Madame 
Ribot  warned  Henriette  as  she  started  back  to 
the  chateau. 

Henriette  did  not  overdo.  With  skirt  tucked 
above  her  slim  ankles  and  an  old  pair  of  gloves 
up  to  her  elbows,  she  used  her  sickle  much  as 
she  had  her  brush,  cutting  her  small  swaths 
handily  after  she  had  learned  the  trick  and  often 
stopping  to  deride  her  own  efforts  or  to  boast 
of  them  very  merrily,  holding  the  attention  of 
every  one  on  herself.  It  was  no  cross  to  her 
that  she  did  not  keep  up  with  the  others. 
Madame  Pigou  complimented  her  for  another 
reason.  It  was  wonderful  that  Henriette  should 
cut  even  a  single  sheaf;  the  condescension  of  a 
beautiful  princess  who  used  a  real  trowel  and 
some  real  mortar  in  laying  the  cornerstone  of  a 
public  building. 

Helen,  humming  snatches  of  song,  kept  her 
swath  even  with  Madame  Pigou.  Her  plain 
features  as  she  bent  to  her  work  seemed  in  keep 
ing  with  it.  There  was  truth  in  Madame  Pigou's 
saying  that  she  was  "  one  of  us."  But  Madame 
did  not  set  a  fast  pace,  for  she  saw  that  Helen 
meant  to  hold  her  own. 


ii4  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

When  Phil  had  finished  a  swath  he  turned  and 
cut  toward  Henriette  in  hers,  and  thus  they  met 
face  to  face  as  he  nipped  the  last  straws  from 
in  front  of  her  sickle;  her  face  flushed,  too,  with 
exercise,  as  they  both  stood  erect,  he  with  head 
bare,  his  sleeves  rolled,  drawing  a  deep  breath 
and  stretching  his  supple,  square  shoulders. 

Helen  pausing  to  rest  had  a  glimpse  of  him 
thus;  and  it  occurred  to  her  how  he  must  have 
looked  far  away  in  the  Southwest  when  he  was 
directing  the  workmen  in  railroad-building.  Then 
she  sent  the  sharp  knife  athwart  the  bundle  of 
straws  that  she  had  gathered  in  her  hand. 

"A  good,  straight  man!  "  whispered  Madame 
Pigou.  "  He  knows  how  to  work." 

"  So  I  was  thinking,"  murmured  Helen  ab 
sently.  Then,  a  sheaf  finished,  she  looked  up 
again  to  see  them  standing  in  quite  the  same 
position  of  confidential  comradeship.  "  Cousin, 
more  praise !  "  she  called,  and  repeated  in  Eng 
lish  what  Madame  Pigou  had  said  of  him. 

"A  real  compliment,   this!"   he  replied. 

"  And  tell  him  that  he  should  put  on  a  hat," 
said  Madame  Pigou.  "  The  sun  is  hot." 

"  Not  so.  Not  to  me.  I  like  it.  I  play  tennis 
in  August  bare-headed." 

'  The   Americans   stand   the   sun  better  than 
we,"  said  Madame  Pigou. 

"  But  he  is  not  an  Indian.  He  is  white,"  Helen 
explained.  "  American  summers  are  hotter." 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE       115 

For  Madame  thought  that  most  of  the  popu 
lation  of  the  States  were  Indians.  Phil  caught 
what  she  was  saying. 

"  A  white  Indian,  but  not  savage !  "  he  called. 

It  had  all  been  as  good  as  play  to  young  Jean, 
watching  these  grand  people  from  the  chateau 
reaping,  until  a  distant  sound  on  the  road  at 
tracted  his  attention.  It  was  the  faint  tramp  of 
men  and  the  rumble  of  guns.  As  the  head  of  a 
column  of  infantry  appeared  past  the  screen  of  a 
stretch  of  woodland,  he  cried  out,  "Soldiers!" 
and  ran. 

The  cry  was  taken  up  far  and  near  over  the 
fields.  Most  of  the  harvesters  started  toward  the 
road  and  with  them  went  Henriette  and  Helen 
and  Phil.  But  not  Madame  Pigou.  She  stood 
watching  the  figures  all  of  a  pattern  in  their  uni 
forms,  moving  like  automatons  sharp  cut  against 
the  skyline,  and  then  bent  to  her  work.  Her  son 
could  not  be  among  these  battalions.  She  knew 
that  he  was  in  Alsace.  Buxom  peasant  girls  and 
toothless  old  men  and  women  standing  by  the 
roadside  called  out  the  joyful  God-speed  of  their 
hearts  to  the  soldiers  of  France. 

The  men  in  their  red  trousers  and  blue  coats 
knew  nothing  of  where  they  were  going;  and  the 
gunners  astride  their  horses  and  seated  on  the 
gun-carriages  and  caissons  looked  as  if  they  did 
not  care,  if  only  action  soon  came.  Still  they 
kept  coming,  that  myriad-legged,  human  cater- 


n6  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

pillar,  its  convolutions  following  the  grade  of  the 
road  :n  either  direction  to  the  horizon.  It  seemed 
a  creature  of  irresistible  man-power  and  still  com 
ing,  when  the  cousins  started  back  to  their  field. 

"  They  are  between  us  and  the  Germans,  those 
brave  fellows!"  said  Madame  Pigou,  her 
features  in  a  transport  of  joy,  with  a  long  look 
toward  the  moving  blue  silhouettes  sharpened 
now  by  the  low  sun.  What  more  was  there  to 
say? 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  see  them  driven  back," 
Helen  whispered  in  English. 

She  took  the  lead  in  insisting  that  Madame 
Pigou  stop  work.  If  she  did  not,  they  would  not 
help  her  to-morrow.  They  walked  back  to  the 
village  with  her. 

"  In  America  the  women  do  not  work  in  the 
fields,"  Phil  managed  to  say  in  French. 

"What  do  they  do?"  asked  Madame  Pigou. 
"  Ah,  I  understand.  They  are  all  rich." 

Jean  who  had  gone  ahead  came  running  toward 
them  with  a  letter  which  the  postman  had  left 
during  the  day  at  the  cottage.  There  was  an 
inarticulate  explosion  of  breath  from  Helen.  She 
had  recognised  the  nature  of  the  letter,  though 
the  peasant  woman  had  not. 

"The  first  in  our  village!"  Helen  whispered 
to  Phil. 

He  understood  her  meaning.  How  could  they 
ease  the  blow  for  the  mother  was  their  thought,  as 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  ALSACE       117 

her  calloused  fingers  tore  open  the  envelope? 
There  was  no  way.  They  had  to  watch  it  fall. 

"  Dead  on  the  field  of  honour!  "  she  repeated 
to  herself.  She  half  closed  her  eyes  as  silently 
she  adjusted  herself  to  fate's  decree,  then  folded 
the  message  and  placed  it  in  her  bosom.  "  It  is 
for  France!  It  is  war!  "  she  said,  this  woman  of 
a  race  that  knows  well  what  war  is  and  what  it 
brings.  "  Jean,  you  must  be  my  man,  now. 
Armand  is  dead!  " 

Jean,  hoarse  from  cheering  the  battalion  on  the 
ruad,  nestled  against  his  mother. 

"  Thank  you  for  helping  me  !  "  she  said  simply, 
turning  to  the  others. 

Her  stoicism  seemed  to  have  its  roots  in  the 
soil  itself,  tilled  and  fought  for  by  centuries  of 
ancestors.  But  the  suppressed  suffering  in  her 
eyes  as  she  spoke  had  brought  the  war  nearer  to 
Mervaux  than  the  throb  of  marching  infantry 
and  the  thunder  of  guns  and  nearer  to  Phil  than 
anything  he  had  seen  or  felt  before. 

"  Letters  of  that  kind  are  dropping  all  over 
France,"  said  Helen,  when  she  described  the  inci 
dent  to  her  mother. 

"  Don't !  "  said  Madame  Ribot.  "  Don't  let  us 
dwell  upon  it!  " 

So  it  was  not  mentioned  at  dinner.  Yet  though 
the  food  was  equally  good,  Madame  Ribot  equally 
genial  and  Henriette  equally  sparkling,  none  could 
help  thinking  of  Madame  Pigou;  and  the  fact 


n8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

of  that  column  on  the  way  to  the  front  brought 
a  suggestion  of  possibilities. 

"  Remember  that  you  are  to  remain  as  long  as 
you  please,"  said  Madame  Ribot  to  Phil  as  she 
bade  him  good-night.  "  I  feel  some  way  that 
— well,  you  give  us  a  sense  of  security." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  VOICE  AT  HIS  ELBOW 

WHY  no  more  news  of  the  brilliant  ad 
vance  into  Alsace?  What  meant  the 
official  silence  about  Mulhausen  and 
Liege?  At  Mervaux  they  read  the  papers  no 
less  helplessly  than  elsewhere. 

The  three  cousins  assisted  Madame  Pigou  in 
finishing  her  harvest.  No  more  soldiers  passed 
along  the  road;  Henriette  went  on  with  her 
painting,  and  Helen  was  absent  on  other  missions. 
Phil  was  drifting  and  he  found  drifting  pleasant, 
though  it  was  carrying  him  onto  the  rocks. 

"  I  ought  to  go  or  I'll  be  hit  for  good!  "  he 
thought,  in  moments  of  sanity. 

Seventeenth  cousinship  was  all  very  well,  but 
he  had  better  face  the  facts.  He  was  a  young 
man  who  had  to  earn  his  own  living  three  thou 
sand  miles  away;  and  here  was  a  young  woman 
in  a  chateau  forty  miles  from  Paris  who  had  been 
bred  in  French  ways.  He  saw  only  Henriette; 
he  lived  Henriette;  and  Madame  Ribot  who 
watched  him  realised  better  than  he  how  serious 
was  his  case.  But  how  could  he  go  with  the 
portrait  unfinished?  How  could  he  go  when  he 

119 


120  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

did  not  want  to  go;  when  he  was  perfectly  will 
ing  to  allow  Henriette  to  go  on  for  months 
painting  his  portrait? 

Sometimes  Helen  broke  her  rule  of  leaving  the 
two  to  themselves,  to  come  and  stand  for  a  while 
and  watch  her  sister  at  work.  Phil  grew  rather 
to  resent  her  presence  on  such  occasions,  for  she 
was  usually  silent  and  Henriette  became  silent, 
too,  as  if  under  restraint.  A  fear  that  he  had 
shown  signs  of  regarding  Helen  as  an  intruder 
led  him  to  remind  her  one  morning  at  breakfast 
that  she  had  not  yet  kept  her  promise  to  make 
a  charcoal  portrait  as  a  companion  to  Henriette's 
painting  to  take  back  to  Longfield.  He  realised 
that  the  suggestion  was  consummate  egoism  as 
soon  as  he  had  made  it;  the  more  so  as  she  re 
ceived  it  with  a  naive,  baffling  surprise. 

"  You  have  forgotten  it!  "  he  said. 

"  Almost,"  she  replied  thoughtfully.  "  You 
are  very  polite." 

For  an  instant  she  regarded  him  with  fixed 
inquiry;  then  out  of  the  depths  of  her  eyes  he  saw 
the  mischief  bubbling  forth  as  it  had  when  she 
held  the  mirror  up  to  him  across  the  table  at 
Truckleford.  In  that  mood  he  knew  that  he 
must  expect  any  unconventional  sally. 

"  Portraits  which  please  a  father  and  mother 
proud  of  a  handsome  son  are  not  exactly  in  my 
line,"  she  said.  "  I  like  wrinkles  and  irregular 
features.  It's  a  sort  of  specialism  with  me  to 


THE  VOICE  AT  HIS  ELBOW      121 

pick  out  these  as  the  salient  points.  There's  no 
telling  what  I  might  do  with  you." 

"  Of  course,  Helen's  forte  is  caricature,"  Hen- 
riette  explained.  "  I  quite  understand  her 
reasons  " — she  paused,  lowering  her  head  and 
looking  at  Phil  through  her  lashes,  daring  a 
thrust — "  after  having  spent  days  with  your 
features." 

"  Not  to  mention  that  I  have  spent  days  with 
yours !  "  he  thrust  back. 

"  The  penalty  of  not  having  had  a  profile 
view!  " 

"  It  is  I  who  am  to  make  the  profile — I  had 
forgotten  that,"  said  Helen.  "  We'll  do  it  this 
morning.  I  feel  in  the  mood." 

He  was  not  long  in  doubt  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  mood.  It  was  an  abandon  of  fanciful 
humour. 

"  Mind,  you  are  not  to  look  around  at  me,  but 
at  Henriette !  "  she  said  warningly,  as  they  went 
up  the  path.  "  I'm  strictly  unofficial." 

He  had  hardly  settled  himself  in  his  pose  when 
she  broke  out  laughing.  He  looked  around  in 
quiringly. 

"You  are  breaking  the  rules!"  she  cried. 
"  Remember,  you  got  yourself  into  this  and 
you  must  play  the  game.  I'm  making  a  pro 
file." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  can  I,  because  I  am  so  fond 
of  myself  that  I  want  more  and  more  pictures 


122  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

of  myself?  "  he  complained  quizzically.  "  Posing 
may  yet  become  a  disease  with  me." 

"  You  will  be  crying  too  much  cousin  as  well  as 
too  much  ancestor,"  said  Henriette,  entering  into 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion.  He  was  at  their  mercy. 

"  It's  the  third  degree  of  cousinship !  "  he 
said. 

What  would  the  class  of  1911,  let  alone  P. 
O'Brien,  the  foreman  of  the  construction  gang 
at  Las  Palmas,  say  if  they  saw  him  now?  P. 
O'Brien,  at  least,  would  not  call  it  "  a  man's  job." 
There  were  two  voices  in  his  ears :  one  from  lips 
he  could  not  see  and  the  other  from  those  he 
could. 

Leisurely,  Henriette  mixed  her  colours,  in 
clining  her  head  this  way  and  that  as  she  did  when 
she  looked  at  her  hair  in  the  mirror.  Then  the 
graceful  arm  rose  and  the  slim  fingers,  holding 
the  brush  daintily,  put  a  dab  on  the  canvas. 

"  Did  you  wear  spurs?  "  asked  the  voice  of  the 
unseen  person. 

"What?" 

"  Don't  look  around !  I  mean,  did  you  wear 
spurs  when  you  were  in  the  Southwest?  Of 
course  you  did,  hugeous  Spanish  spurs  and  an 
enormous  sombrero  and  woolly  sheepskin 
trousers." 

"As  you  say!  "  Phil  replied. 

"  You  see,  I  am  doing  cartoons  of  our  hero's 
life,"  Helen  explained.  "  Here  he  is  as  he  saw 


THE  VOICE  AT  HIS  ELBOW      123 

himself  and  the  Rocky  Mountains  when  he  first 
arrived,  with  his  college  diploma  under  his  arm." 

Only  lines  of  hieroglyphic  simplicity,  and  Phil 
in  enormous  spurs  and  sombrero,  with  a  great 
roll  of  parchment  under  his  arm,  was  looking 
down  on  some  ant-hills.  Only  lines,  but  the  nose 
and  the  chin  under  the  sombrero's  were  unmis 
takably  Phil's. 

"  Now,  as  our  hero  sees  himself  roping  his 
first  steer — and  as  he  really  was !  "  she  went  on. 
"  We  are  all  for  realism." 

A  Phil  with  one  arm  akimbo,  who  roped  the 
steer  with  his  thumb  and  little  finger  holding  a 
thread,  was  followed  in  the  next  scene  by  a  Phil 
fluttering  heaven  high  and  a  steer  romping  across 
the  prairie. 

"  What  next  in  the  hero's  progress?  "  she  con 
tinued.  "  Undaunted,  he  goes  on  his  way,  our 
conquistadore — is  that  the  right  word  in  Spanish, 
cousin?  " 

'  Yes,"  admitted  Phil,  who  could  not  see  the 
drawings  or  confess  his  curiosity  about  them. 

Henriette  went  on  painting,  with  intermissions 
when  she  lowered  her  head  behind  the  easel  to 
hide  her  amusement,  perhaps,  and  others  when 
she  murmured  an  apology  for  Helen;  but  she 
was  charming  all  the  time. 

"Yes,  I  have  it!"  said  Helen.  "He  saves 
pretty  Pepita,  the  stern,  old  governor's  daughter, 
from  the  revolutionista  bandittistas — copyright 


i24  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

reserved,  plot  perfectly  original.  But  how  does 
he  save  Pepita?  With  one  fell  glance  of  his 
eye?" 

Phil  moved  a  trifle  restlessly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  No,  there  are  too  many  revolutionistas !  He 
might  subdue  four  or  five,  but  not  all  of  them — 
not  even  he,  particularly  when  he  has  left  his 
college  diploma  in  his  tent — and  the  dark  Span 
ish  girl  must  be  saved.  It  shall  be  six-shooters 
— big  six-shooters !  'Tis  done !  " 

Phil  was  seeing  Henrietta's  face  and  hearing 
a  voice  like  Henrietta's,  but  with  a  richness,  a 
variety  of  tonal  range,  and  a  whimsicality  and  in- 
fectiousness  which  hers  lacked.  It  went  perfectly 
with  Henriette's  smile  at  times,  for  she  was  en 
joying  the  situation. 

"  Our  hero  triumphs !  "  Helen  continued. 
"  He  restores  the  beautiful  belle  to  her  true  lover, 
but  with  rare  nobility  of  soul  hides  the  mortal 
wound  which  her  eyes  have  given  him.  For 
she  is  not  for  him.  Now  he  starts  for  home  to 
found  some  more  American  colleges  and  foreign 
missions,  his  pockets  bulging  with  gold — thus — 
home  to  his  first  love,  the  girl  in  the  kitchen  at 
Longfield  who  makes  strawberry  shortcakes. 
Here  he  eats  a  strawberry  shortcake  as  big  as  a 
mountain.  Yet  another  transition — he  is  in 
Europe.  Majestic  he  sits  and  the  little  cousins 
look  up  at  him  and  worship  this  Gibson  man  from 
the  United  States  of  Amerikee.  Thus  he  and 


THE  VOICE  AT  HIS  ELBOW      125 

thus  the  little  cousins !  This  is  triumph,  indeed ! 
Now  our  story  is  told.  We  depart." 

"  Wait !  "  cried  Phil,  springing  up.  "  For  what 
I  have  suffered  I  want  to  see  the  result." 

He  faced  a  Helen  shaking  with  laughter,  teas 
ing,  delightful,  in  its  spontaneous  ring.  Every 
fibre  in  her  body  seemed  to  be  laughing.  She 
would  not  have  been  unattractive  then,  even  had 
her  nose  been  lumpier  than  it  was. 

"  It  will  be  painful,  I  warn  you !  "  she  said. 
He  was  looking  over  her  shoulder.  "  How  do 
you  like  the  local  colour?  I  put  in  one  cactus  for 
that." 

"  That  is  enough  for  Mexico,"  he  agreed. 
"And  may  I  have  them?  Father  will  double 
up  when  he  sees  them  and  Jane  will  roar." 

"  I  was  doing  them  to  make  myself  laugh," 
she  said  soberly,  turning  her  head.  He  caught 
a  gleam  from  her  eyes  baffling  in  its  brightness, 
as  a  sharp  sunbeam  through  a  lattice.  "  If  they 
make  other  people  laugh,  so  much  to  the  good 
in  war  time." 

"  Which  means  that  I  may  have  them?" 

"  Yes.  But  I  have  yet  to  make  my  charcoal 
of  you;  so  back  to  your  pose,  please.  This  is  a 
serious  business." 

He  recognised  that  it  was  by  the  unattractive 
way  that  she  drew  down  her  lips  as  she  ceased 
smiling.  A  serious  business !  Though  he  did  not 
look  at  her,  he  could  feel  her  presence;  the  in- 


126  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

tensity  that  she  put  into  her  work.  He  could  hear 
the  "  Oh,  cusses!"  muttered  under  her  breath, 
which  were  only  interjections  in  the  course  of 
series  of  questions  and  comments,  jumping  from 
Longfield  and  back  again.  He  found  himself 
interested  in  answering.  He  betrayed  his  en 
thusiasms,  his  ambitions,  and  his  love  for  his 
country,  which  was  as  simple  and  as  inherent  as 
that  of  the  peasants  in  the  fields  for  their  France. 

"America  is  to-morrow!"  he  said. 

This  voice  of  the  girl  unseen  had  transformed 
him  from  the  atmosphere  of  cartoons  to  that  of 
a  fine  reality.  He  was  speaking  better  than  he 
knew  and  answering  Helen's  questions  to  the 
enchanting  face  of  Henriette  who,  in  her  rapt 
listening  while  her  brush  was  still,  urged  him  on 
no  less  by  her  smile  and  charm  than  Helen  with 
her  voice  of  emotion. 

"America  is  to-morrow!"  repeated  Helen. 
"  I  like  that  thought.  You  take  in  all  who  come 
to  give  them  a  chance  for  your  to-morrow;  amal 
gamate  the  prejudices  that  made  this  war.  You 
live  for  the  rising  rather  than  the  setting  sun  and 
you  love  your  country  not  in  a  boasting  way,  but 
in  the  blood.  Is  that  it?" 

"  Yes,  it's  in  the  blood  after  all  these  genera 
tions;  and  we  want  to  breed  it  into  the  blood  of 
every  newcomer." 

"Even  the  Germans — the  Huns?" 

"  They  should  cease  to  be  Germans  in  America 


THE  VOICE  AT  HIS  ELBOW      127 

in  the  same  way  that  my  ancestors  gave  up  their 
European  allegiance  and  fought  in  order  that  the 
newcomers  should  be  free  from  it.  If  they  prefer 
to  be  German,  let  them  stay  in  Germany." 

The  afternoon  wore  on  as  under  a  spell 
wrought  unconsciously  for  him  with  the  beauty 
of  Henriette  before  him  and  a  certain  magnetic 
force  at  his  elbow — which  suddenly  snapped  as 
Helen  said: 

"  I  don't  know — probably  I'll  never  do  it  any 
better!  Thank  you!  " 

By  this  he  understood  that  the  drawing  was 
finished.  He  rose  as  one  will  when  the  end  of  an 
incident  impels  physical  release. 

"  Enough  for  to-day!  "  said  Henriette,  a  touch 
of  sharpness  in  her  voice  as  she  rose,  too. 

Helen  looked  exhausted  and  numb.  She  had 
put  all  her  vitality  into  a  sheet  of  cardboard. 

"  You,  too,  Henriette !  "  exclaimed  Phil,  as 
he  looked  at  the  result. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  drawing  of  Henriette, 
with  arm  uplifted  as  about  to  lay  brush  to  canvas, 
and  of  himself  in  the  pose  which  Helen  had  ar 
ranged,  was  scrawled,  "  Seventeenth  cousins." 
Both  Henriette  and  Phil  flushed,  and  Helen 
looked  from  one  face  to  the  other  lingeringly, 
keenly.  She  had  caught  the  grace  and  charm  of 
her  sister  as  something  inviting,  vivid  and  finished 
as  art  itself,  and  the  note  of  the  man  was 
of  a  downright  simplicity  of  clear  profile  which 


128  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

seemed  to   see   nothing  except  the    face   before 
him. 

"  You  think  it  bad!  "  said  Helen.  "  It  is— it 
is  !  But  I  warned  you  that  I  can't  do  anything  but 
put  the  person  as  I  see  him  into  line." 

In  the  resulting  impulse,  which  had  a  certain 
desperation  about  it,  she  grasped  the  edge  of  the 
cardboard  in  both  hands  to  tear  it  in  two. 

"No!"  said  Henriette  peremptorily.  "I 
never  liked  anything  you  have  done  better." 

"  But  I'm  used  to  tearing  up  things  when  they 
displease  me !  "  persisted  Helen  stubbornly. 

"At  least,  wait!  "  remonstrated  Phil.  "It  is 
wonderful  of  Henriette." 

"  And  of  you,  cousin !  "  said  Henriette. 
Phil  took  the  picture  from  Helen's  hands, 
which  now  released  it  in  the  relaxation  of  philo 
sophical  disinterestedness.  What  he  saw  was  a 
man  in  love  with  a  woman  at  an  easel,  and  the 
man  was  himself.  The  truth  hit  him  fairly  be 
tween  the  eyes. 

"  Sometimes  I  don't  know  what  comes  out  in 
my  own  pictures  till  I  look  at  them  a  second 
time — and  this  is  not  so  bad  for  me.  Have  it  if 
you  want  it,"  Helen  added,  as  she  bent  to  pick 
up  her  drawing  materials,  "  and  I'll  go  and  wash 
my  smudgy  hands."  Rather  hurriedly,  as  if  some 
one  or  something  were  pursuing  her,  she  went 
toward  the  house. 

In  a  quandary  Phil  watched  her  out  of  sight. 


THE  VOICE  AT  HIS  ELBOW      129 

When  he  turned  again  to  Henriette  her  back 
was  toward  him  and  she  was  taking  her  canvas 
off  the  easel.  How  like  was  her  figure  to  the  one 
which  had  disappeared  under  the  trees! 

"  Helen  has  a  distinct  gift,  hasn't  she?  "  Hen 
riette  remarked. 

"  Yes,  and  a  distinct  character,"  Phil  replied 
thoughtfully. 

"  A  touch  of  melancholy.  Even  mother  and  I 
never  know  what  she  will  do  next." 

He  folded  the  easel  and  took  it  under  one  arm, 
carrying  Helen's  charcoal  under  the  other,  while 
Henriette  carried  the  portrait,  and  they  started 
slowly  back  to  the  house. 

"  It  was  wonderful  what  you  said  about 
America,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  appeal 
ing  seriousness. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  a  breath  of  the  real  America,"  she 
answered.  "  I've  fallen  into  the  provincial 
French  view.  America  is  to-morrow !  I  like 
that.  You've  made  me  feel  the  call  of  America; 
aroused  the  dormant  American  corpuscles  in  my 
blood,"  she  continued,  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the 
path  and  then  up  at  him.  "  I  want  to  go  to 
America.  I'd  like  to  see  those  Rocky  Mountains 
and  I'd  like  to  pay  a  return  visit  from  Mervaux  to 
Longfield." 

'  You  would?  But  you'd  find  it  quiet — little 
to  do." 


1 3o  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Is  there  much  to  do  at  Mervaux?  Shouldn't 
I  have  my  painting?  My  American  corpuscles 
would  make  me  feel  at  home." 

She  had  carried  him  a  stage  farther  on  his 
course,  dispelling  the  doubts  which  had  occurred 
to  him  as  a  warning  to  pause. 

"  I — I "  he  began.  His  throat  seemed  out 

of  order;  he  was  stuttering.  Madame  Ribot's 
call  from  the  doorway  of  the  house  came  as  a 
mixture  of  relief  and  unwelcome  interruption. 

"  Somebody  will  be  late  for  dinner  if  they  do 
not  hurry,"  said  Madame  Ribot.  "  And  the  news 
is  not  good.  Even  Count  de  la  Grange,  who  has 
just  been  here,  admits  that  it  is  not.  However, 
he  doesn't  think  that  anything  will  happen  to  dis 
turb  us  here." 


CHAPTER  XI 

SHE  SAID,   "  YES!  " 

DISTINCTLY  it  was  triumph  that  the  eyes 
from  the  mirror  reflected  back  into 
Henriette's  in  her  room.  For  dinner 
Henriette  chose  a  gown  which  she  had  not  worn 
since  Phil's  arrival.  She  had  kept  it  hanging  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  closet,  possibly  owing  to 
the  fact  that  the  cut  was  the  same  as  that  of 
Helen's  one  dinner  gown.  Though  made  of 
richer  material  than  Helen's,  it  heightened  the 
similarity  of  the  two  girls'  figures  and  emphasised 
the  contrast  between  the  beauty  of  the  one  and 
the  plainness  of  the  other.  Either  seemed  ap 
propriate  to  its  wearer;  to  Henriette  by  right 
of  her  vivacious  charm  which  was  particularly  in 
evidence  that  evening,  and  to  Helen  by  the  pre 
destination  of  nature. 

Henriette  talked  of  a  visit  to  America;  she 
would  talk  of  nothing  but  America.  Her  mother's 
shrewd  little  eyes  hovered  between  her  and  Phil 
questioningly,  with  a  trace  of  frown  at  intervals. 

"  I  shall  claim  you  for  a  stroll  in  the  garden," 
said  Madame  Ribot  to  Phil  after  dinner,  "  and 
then  I  shall  retire  very  early."  She  did  not  say 

131 


1 32  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

so,  but  she  was  going  to  pack  some  of  her  most 
precious  things  for  departure  in  case  of  necessity. 

Phil  had  an  idea  that  she  wished  to  speak  to 
him  and  to  him  alone  of  something  on  her  mind; 
he  knew  that  he  had  something  on  his  mind  which 
he  would  like  to  mention  to  her.  They  walked 
some  distance  along  the  path  in  that  silence  which 
makes  two  people  conscious  of  wanting  to  know 
what  it  is  that  the  other's  hesitation  prevents  him 
from  saying. 

On  this  occasion  it  was  never  spoken;  for 
Madame  Ribot  broke  the  silence  by  remarking 
how  extremely  dark  it  was.  The  moon  was  be 
hind  a  cloud. 

Then  the  war  again!  She  mentioned  a  letter 
which  she  had  received  that  afternoon  about  the 
death  of  the  son  of  an  old  friend.  It  was  all 
very  terrible ;  the  world  would  never  be  the  same 
again.  She  hoped  that  they  were  safe  at 
Mervaux.  Surely  with  the  British  and  the  Rus 
sians  fighting  with  the  French  there  was  no 
danger  of  another  siege  of  Paris. 

As  they  approached  the  house  on  their  return, 
Phil  saw  a  figure  moving  along  another  path,  so 
dim  that  it  was  hardly  more  than  a  shadow.  Yet 
it  recalled  to  him  with  a  thrill  the  Henriette  with 
an  appeal  in  her  eyes  for  an  invitation  to  America. 
She  was  walking  very  slowly.  The  moon  show 
ing  a  gleam  of  light  as  it  passed  between  two 
clouds  revealed  the  figure  with  its  head  bowed 


SHE  SAID,  "YES!"  133 

and  hands  clasped  behind,  the  face  indistinct. 
Was  she  thinking  of  what  he  was  thinking? 

When  he  said  good-night  at  the  door  to 
Madame  Ribot,  he  remarked  that  it  was  too  early 
to  retire  and  he  would  take  another  stroll. 

"  I  think  you  will  find  Henriette  about  the 
grounds  somewhere,"  she  said.  Phil  caught  him 
self  starting  at  mention  of  the  name.  "  Probably 
Helen,  too,"  she  added. 

"  I'll  look  for  them,"  he  replied. 

She  smiled  and  nodded  to  herself,  as  he  turned 
away;  but  the  frown  which  had  shown  itself 
on  her  brow  at  dinner  returned  and  remained 
long  after  she  was  in  her  room. 

"If — if  history  should  repeat  itself!"  she 
murmured. 

Phil  started  up  the  path  which  the  figure  he  was 
seeking  had  taken.  The  moonbeams  held  until 
on  a  bench  under  a  tree  they  revealed  her  with 
head  turned  away  and  bent,  still  in  thought. 

"  Hello !  "  he  called,  stooping  to  pass  under 
the  branches. 

"  Hello !  "  was  the  answer  of  surprise. 

"  Do  I  disturb  a  brown  study?  "  he  asked. 

"  Almost  black  in  this  darkness — no,  not  black 
— just  human !  "  she  answered,  without  looking 
around. 

Very  sweet  that  voice  in  the  darkness,  resonant 
with  fellowship.  No  man  ever  knows  why  the 
impulse  comes;  but  most  men  know  the  incident 


134  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

that  let  it  go.  With  Phil  it  was  the  voice  as 
sociated  with  a  face  in  front  of  an  easel.  They 
had  the  night  and  the  world  to  themselves,  there 
under  the  tree.  He  might  best  have  made  his 
speech  looking  into  her  eyes  under  another  tree 
where  she  was  making  a  portrait;  but  it  did  not 
happen  that  way,  such  things  being  always  as 
they  happen. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  Please 
listen!" 

He  was  resting  his  knee  against  the  bench  and 
his  hand  pressed  hard  on  the  bark  of  the  tree 
as  he  confessed  that  he  was  past  the  point  of 
resisting  what  had  seemed  folly  to  him  till  hope 
had  overcome  judgment. 

She  was  very  still  as  she  listened.  Her  silence 
had  the  effect  of  urging  him  on.  And  he  had  the 
question  fairly  out,  now.  Was  the  call  of 
America  strong  enough  to  win  her  to  go  back 
to  America  with  him? 

Sudden  and  wild  came  the  answer  of,  "  Yes !  " 
Then  her  hand  with  a  desperate  quickness  rose  to 
her  face  which  was  still  turned  from  him,  and 
she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  with  a  frightened  cry 
disappeared  into  the  darkness. 

Phil  remained  where  he  was,  as  inanimate  as 
the  tree  itself.  Yes — and  then  flight!  Yes,  with 
the  ring  of  life  and  passion  in  it — and  then  flight  1 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  GUNS   SPEAK 

WAS  the  war  making  her  mad?  Her 
"  Yes !  "  was  repeating  itself  in  Helen's 
ears  in  a  haunting,  beating  refrain  as 
she  hurried  toward  the  house.  She  had  played 
a  lie;  she  had  made  a  mockery  of  a  man  in  his 
most  serious  mood !  She  had  accepted  an  offer 
of  marriage  in  Henriette's  name !  How  was  she 
to  explain?  What  was  she  to  do?  With  every 
turn  of  her  groping  flashes  of  thought  for  some 
solution,  the  wickedness  and  agony  of  her  situa 
tion  grew  worse. 

In  the  doorway  she  met  Henriette  just  com 
ing  out.  Helen  drew  back  as  if  she  had  been 
struck,  cowed,  her  cheeks  burning,  her  lips 
twitching,  her  eyes  dull  as  with  torture  before  an 
accuser.  Henriette  could  only  surmise  that  some 
accident  had  happened. 

"What  is  it?  Why  don't  you  speak?"  she 
demanded. 

Henriette  was  going  out  into  the  garden  and 
Phil  might  come  to  her  with  the  words,  "  Don't 
forget;  you  said  yes!  "  precipitating  an  awkward 
crisis.  The  force  which  he  had  put  into  his 

135 


136  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

words  was  proof  that  he  was  no  faint-hearted 
lover. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak?  You  look  as  if  you 
had  seen  ghosts!"  Henriette  persisted. 

Helen's  way  of  mending  the  error  of  one  im 
pulse  had  ever  been  with  another  impulse. 

"Not  here!"  she  gasped.  "In  my  room! 
Yes,  Henriette,  you  must  know!" 

When  they  were  in  the  room  and  Helen,  hag 
gard  and  choking,  faced  Henriette,  calm  and 
wondering,  the  contrast  between  the  two  was  at  a 
climax.  Something  like  appeal  for  sympathy  ap 
peared  in  Helen's  eyes  as  she  struggled  for  a 
beginning.  Then  without  beginning  she  broke 
into  laughter,  which  was  prolonged  until  she  was 
forced  to  wipe  her  eyes.  < 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  have  not  gone  out  of  your 
head!"  said  Henriette.  "I  refuse  to  see  the 
fun  of  the  thing  until  I  know  what  it  is." 

Laughter  had  pointed  the  way  for  Helen. 

"  It  would  be  funny  if  it  were  not  so  awful," 
she  said.  Between  laughs,  hectic  laughs,  she  told 
the  story  of  what  had  happened  under  the  tree. 
"  The  joke  was  too  good,  shameful  as  it  was. 
I  couldn't  help  it.  I  said  only  a  few  words  and 
looking  the  other  way — it  was  so  dark — he  mis 
took  my  voice  for  yours — and  what  is  to  be 
done  now?  " 

Henriette's  eyes  were  narrow  slits,  become  like 
her  mother's,  and  her  lips  tightly  compressed 


THE  GUNS  SPEAK  137 

made  her  mouth  a  short  gash  and  drew  down  her 
nose  till  the  cartilage  of  the  thin  bridge  showed 
white. 

"  Yes,  what  to  do !  "  she  said  icily.  "  Why  do 
you  come  to  me?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  Helen  answered. 

"Oh!  "  said  Henriette. 

Helen  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  poor  effort. 

"  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation.  Don't  you 
see,  Henriette?  It's  the  knot  in  my  brain,  I 
suppose." 

"  But,  I  repeat,  why  do  you  come  to  me?  " 

Helen  was  in  an  agony  of  confusion  under  her 
sister's  glare. 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know  what  he  did  in 
tend  for  you — I " 

"  Leave  my  affairs  to  me !  " 

"  It  was  only  one  of  my  foolish  impulses, 
Henriette !  " 

Confined  anger  flashing  rage  from  Henriette's 
eyes  carried  her  forward  a  step.  A  storm  burst 
on  Helen's  head. 

"Impulses!"  exclaimed  Henriette.  "Not 
that — spite !  Yes,  and  jealousy  and  sour  grapes 
and  stolen  goods !  You  wanted  to  know  what 
it  was  like  to  have  a  man  make  love  to  you ! 
You  could  not  resist  the  novelty,  the  temptation. 
Am  I  to  blame  because  I  am  good-looking  and  you 
are  not?  Because  I  have  money?  He  thought 
it  was  my  voice,  you  say.  How  do  you  think  it 


138  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

makes  me  feel  to  have  a  sister  with  a  voice  like 
mine  always  with  me  ?  Humble  as  a  mouse  and 
as  cunning,  pretending  to  efface  yourself,  work 
ing  in  the  fields  with  the  peasants,  the  plain  girl 
who  cannot  afford  good  clothes,  and  your  very 
unpretentious  charcoals — yes,  you  know  your 
part!  Cunning  and  spite,  that  is  it,  and  jealous 
of  my  work — and  always  with  me — I " 

The  upshot  of  Henriette's  anger  was  a  blo\v  on 
Helen's  cheek,  so  sharp  that  she  staggered 
under  it;  but  it  was  the  least  of  the  blows  she 
had  received  in  that  revelation  of  her  sister's 
feeling. 

"  I'll  not  engage  in  a  boxing  match  with  you, 
Henriette,"  she  said  coolly,  after  two  or  three 
hard  swallows.  "  If  I  do  appear  that  way  to 
other  people  it's  time  I  knew  it.  Perhaps  there 
is  a  little  truth  in  it.  I'm  a  woman,  yes.  I 
should  like  to  be  good-looking — at  least,  not  as 
plain  as  I  am.  It  does  hurt  me  that  I  have  such 
a  kill-joy  of  a  face." 

"  If  I  were  as  plain  as  you  I'd  accept  the  fact 
and  be  a  nurse  or  something.  Anyway,  I'd  try  to 

make  the  best  of  it  by " 

'  Try  to  make  myself  as  attractive  as  possible, 
you  mean." 

"Oh,  you  don't  neglect  that!  You've  found 
out  that  you  are  least  unattractive  when  you  grin 
and  laugh.  One  may  try  to  overdo  that  and  be 
.silly." 


THE  GUNS  SPEAK  139 

A  faint  and  peculiar  smile  twitched  Helen's 
lips,  and  sad,  too. 

"  I've  tried  to  avoid  that  temptation.  I  re 
membered  the  fable  about  the  donkey  who  tried 
to  caper  and  the  old  saw  about  seeing  yourself  as 
others  see  you." 

"It's  time!"  said  Henriette  mercilessly;  but 
her  features  had  resumed  their  calm. 

"  I  am  going  away,  Henriette,"  Helen  went 
on,  "  and  if  you  will  wait  I'll  find  Cousin  Phil 
and  confess  the  trick  that  I  played.  That  is 
what  I  should  have  done  at  once." 

"  Suppose  that  I  saved  you  the  humiliation — 
and  it  must  be  humiliation  even  to  such  a  practical 
joker  as  you,"  Henriette  replied,  smiling  now. 
"  Suppose  that  I  let  it  stand  that  he  has  proposed 
to  me  and  I  have  accepted?  " 

"  Henriette!  "  Helen  put  accusation  into  the 
word. 

"Well!" 

'  That  will  mean  that  you  have  agreed  to  be 
his  wife — to  go  to  America  with  him !  Would 
you  do  that?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  will  come  to  Europe  to  live." 
'  That  was  not  his  expectation." 

"  So  you  have  arranged  the  details  for  me, 
too?" 

"  No,  I  have  told  you  all.  What  I  mean  is 
that  he  is  not  like  the  other  men.  He  is  down- 


1 40  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

right  and  not  used  to  such  affairs.  I — I  mean, 
his  heartbreak  might  last." 

"  By  which  you  imply  that  I  am  a  flirt.  Is 
that  it?" 

"  No,  not  that  you  mean  to  be.  But  one  so 
charming  as  you  and  so  used  to  attention  finds 
it  very  easy  to  win  men."  -s 

"  And  " — Henriette  smiling  quite  sweetly  took 
an  excruciatingly  long  time  to  say  it — "  you  love 
him  yourself.  Is  that  it?  " 

Helen  was  silent,  her  eyes  downcast,  feeling 
all  the  blood  in  her  body  running  to  her  face. 
To  have  the  question  put  bluntly — this  question 
which  she  had  never  put  to  herself! 

"How  you  blush!"  Henriette  remarked. 
"  Oh,  I've  watched  you  plotting!  I  know!  " 

Helen  looked  up  and  her  glance  was  so  steady 
and  prolonged  that  Henriette  averted  hers. 

"  No,  I  have  not  plotted.  I  plot  for  such  a 
purpose !  One  does  not  know  what  is  in  one's 
heart  and  one  does  not  say  '  no  '  or  '  yes  '  if  it 
means  lying.  I  am  going  away,  so  I'll  leave  it 
to  you.  He  shall  not  know  that  it  was  not  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,  on  thinking  it  out  I've  con 
cluded  to  win  my  own  proposals — I  think  I'm 
capable  of  it,"  she  smiled  charmingly,  "  and  not 
to  work  in  pairs  in  affairs  of  this  kind." 

"  That  is  better,"  Helen  agreed.  "  It's  more 
straightforward  for  me." 

"  And  gives  you  a  chance,  too,"  said  Henriette 


THE  GUNS  SPEAK  141 

benignly.  "  As  it's  dark,  perhaps  he  may  take 
pity  and  elope  with  you  to-night." 

"  In  that  case,"  Helen  replied,  with  an  effort 
at  humour,  "  we  shall  be  breakfasting  in  Paris 
and  not  at  Mervaux." 

As  she  held  the  door  open  before  starting  on 
her  errand  she  hesitated,  thinking  that  perhaps 
Henriette  might  ask  forgiveness  for  the  blow 
which  still  stung  her  cheek.  But  Henriette  gave 
no  sign  for  contrition  and  Helen  made  no  further 
overture.  Sturdily  as  a  grenadier  she  marched 
down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  grounds  to  have 
the  agony  of  her  confession  to  Philip  Sanford 
over  as  speedily  as  possible.  She  was  suffering 
horribly,  but  the  spirit  of  a  new  freedom  pos 
sessed  her.  She  blessed  that  thousand  francs 
and  uttered  a  silent  prayer  for  M.  Vailliant,  out 
there  in  his  place  among  the  walls  of  men  trying 
to  stem  the  tide  of  invasion,  in  a  way  that  would 
have  made  him  feel  that  he  had  not  been  an  art 
dealer  in  vain. 

The  Rubicon  was  crossed,  and  plain  girls  no 
less  than  Csesar  feel  relieved  after  a  decision 
which  makes  the  path  to  battle  clear  and  chooses 
the  enemy.  The  thousand  francs  would  take  her 
to  America.  Perhaps  if  M.  Vailliant  had  liked 
her  charcoals  well  enough  to  exhibit  them,  some 
one  in  New  York  would  take  them  up.  If  not, 
well,  she  had  seen  those  enormous  American 
papers  with  pages  and  pages  of  cartoons.  Might 


142  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

not  she  sell  enough  of  her  conceits  to  make  a 
living?  With  the  American  strain  in  her  blood 
she  ought  to  be  able  to  adapt  herself  to  condi 
tions.  She  recalled  the  saying  of  her  old  teacher: 
"  Don't  be  afraid.  Make  the  fight.  Crusts  earned 
by  pot-boilers  taste  sweet  if  true  art  is  in  your 
heart." 

She  felt  a  new  strength  in  her  limbs;  the  very 
breaths  in  her  lungs  going  deeper,  as  true  war 
riors'  must  when  they  cross  the  Rubicon.  But 
ahead  of  her  was  a  duty  which  was  humiliation  in 
every  fibre  for  any  woman;  yes,  the  more  so  the 
plainer  she  was.  For  she  was  a  woman,  quite  full 
grown;  she  thought  of  herself  in  this  way  for 
the  first  time. 

Her  courage  was  screwed  to  the  sticking  point 
until  she  reached  the  terrace  and,  on  the  spot 
where  that  afternoon  she  had  drawn  cartoons  of 
jest  and  the  true  picture  of  him  and  Henriette, 
saw  Phil  standing,  his  figure  outlined  in  the  rays 
of  the  moon  which  had  at  last  freed  itself  of  ob 
scuring  clouds.  She  stopped,  numb,  cold.  Then 
she  drew  a  deep  breath,  drove  her  fingers  into 
her  palms,  and  Phil  turned  at  the  sound  of  a 
merry  "  Hello !  "  to  see  Helen  before  him,  laugh 
ing  softly  as  she  had  over  her  work  in  the  after 
noon.  She  hurried  her  speech,  with  interludes  of 
laughter  which  asked  for  forgiveness. 

"  You  know  how  mischievous  I  am — and — 
well — mind,  I'll  keep  the  secret,  and  my  voice  is 


THE  GUNS  SPEAK  143 

like  Henriette's  and  my  figure,  too,  they  say — 
and  when  you  began  to — well,  to  be  eloquent  to 
me  on  the  bench,  taking  me  for  Henriette,  I 
couldn't  resist.  I — I'm  ashamed,  but  it  was  such 
a  joke — I  couldn't  help  it!  "  she  finished  with  a 
peal  of  laughter. 

He  had  guessed  the  truth  before  she  came  to 
the  climax  and  he  rose  to  his  part  in  answering 
laughter;  lame,  but  still  it  was  laughter,  for  which 
she  thanked  him  from  her  heart  and  brain,  now 
giddy  with  relief. 

"  The  joke  is  on  me !  "  he  agreed. 

"  It  was  wicked — there  isn't  the  slightest  ex 
cuse  !  "  she  proceeded. 

"  Personally,  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have 
resisted  it,"  he  said.  "  Honestly  not." 

"  It's — it's  awfully  good  of  you !  "  she  replied. 
u  I  don't  feel  quite  so  shameful  now  that  you 
take  it  that  way.  You're  a  brick!  " 

She  was  pleased  with  the  way  that  she  was 
carrying  it  out,  thanks  to  having  crossed  the 
Rubicon  and  put  all  illusions  behind  her. 

"  Acting  for  Henriette,  I  believe  that  you  said 
yes,"  he  resumed  quizzically. 

Laughter  was  the  cue  here,  too.  She  was 
prompt  with  it. 

"  Did  I  ?  You  were  so  eloquent  I  thought  that 
I  ought,  instead  of  spoiling  the  play.  It  was  the 
quickest  way.  I  was  getting  embarrassed  with 
my  own  joke." 


144  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  You  are  a  brick,  too,  my  seventeenth  cousin !  " 
he  said.  "  No  harm  done,  as  you  have  told 
nobody  else." 

"  Oh,  but  I  have !  "  She  could  not  help  letting 
the  truth  go.  "  I  told  Henriette." 

"Oh!"  Phil  was  thoughtful.  "  What  did  she 
say?" 

"  To  tell  you — that  is — I  mean,  the  sense  of  it 
— that  she  was  not  acting  by  proxy  in  such 
matters." 

"  Naturally  not,"  he  replied.  "  However, 
she  knows,"  he  concluded. 

"  All's  well  that  ends  well,"  said  Helen. 

"  Yes." 

It  was  on  her  tongue's  end  to  tell  him  of  her 
resolution  to  go  to  America,  but  she  changed  her 
mind  instantly  and  finally.  She  would  not  ask 
his  help,  not  after  this  affair  under  the  tree.  And 
she  would  start  to-morrow.  She  would  not,  could 
not,  spend  another  day  at  Mervaux.  The  reso 
lution  had  occupied  her  in  a  moment  of  silence. 
Awakening  from  it,  she  saw  that  he  had  turned 
as  one  drawn  by  something  of  intense  interest  and 
was  gazing  out  across  the  fields.  Far  away  on  the 
horizon  was  a  flash  and  another  flash  and  then 
many  flashes.  It  was  like  sheet  lightning. 

"  There  must  be  a  storm  in  the  distance !  "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Listen!  "  he  said  sharply. 

From  that  direction  came  a  sound  like  thunder, 


THE  GUNS  SPEAK  145 

yet  not  like  thunder,  for  its  dull  peals  had  a 
booming  regularity. 

"  And  there — where  my  finger  points !  " 

She  stepped  a  little  behind  him  and  looked 
along  his  arm.  Beyond  the  fingers'  end,  break 
ing  out  of  the  mantle  of  night,  were  one-two-three- 
four  bright,  sharp  flashes  in  regular  succession, 
followed  by  reports,  one-two-three-four. 

"Listen!" 

There  was  a  rumble  of  wheels  on  the  main 
road,  mingled  with  the  shouts  of  men,  very 
audible  once  one's  mind  was  centred  on  it. 

"  The  near,  sharp  flashes  are  from  the  French 
guns  !  The  others  are  the  burst  of  shells  !  They 
are  fighting  there — there  in  sight  of  us!  "  Helen 
exclaimed,  gripping  Phil's  arm.  "  The  war  has 
come  to  Mervaux!  This  will  be  terrible  for 
mother !  We  must  be  careful  how  we  break  the 
news  to  her." 

"  Yes,  she  must  go,"  said  Phil.    "  Wait !  " 

He  was  3training  his  eyes  at  something  which 
she  could  net  see.  Finally  she  made  out  a  moving, 
lumpish  sort  of  procession  coming  from  the  road. 
As  it  drew  nearer  she  recognised  it  as  a  battery 
of  guns,  which  stopped  behind  a  clump  of  woods 
in  a  hollow.  She  heard  the  commands  and  saw 
the  groups  of  horses  swing  round  and  then  go 
to  the  rear. 

"  I'll  speak  to  them.  Perhaps  they  can  tell 
us  what  to  expect,"  said  Phil. 


146  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Shan't  I  go  with  you?  My  French  may 
help." 

"  Yes,  that's  so.  Shall  I  never  forget  that 
everybody  doesn't  speak  English  and  that  only 
the  English  really  understand  my  French?" 

Together  they  walked  across  the  dewy  fields 
till  an  officer  of  the  battery  flashed  his  electric 
pocket  lamp  in  their  faces,  as  he  stepped  from 
among  his  men  busy  emplacing  the  soixante-quinze 
for  action. 

"Monsieur!  What  is  your  business  here? 
Who  are  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  an  American  stopping  at  the  chateau 
over  there  and  this  is  my  cousin,"  Phil  managed  to 
say  in  his  school  French. 

"  His  accent  is  not  German,  you  will  agree, 
mon  capitaine!  "  put  in  Helen. 

"  Nor   yours,    but   Parisian,    Mademoiselle !  " 

He   was   very  polite,   but   the   voice   was  tired. 

'  You  had  better  go  back  to  the  chateau  and 

stay,  lest  your  purpose  be  misunderstood.     We 

are  very  sharp  about  such  things  in  war  time." 

"  How  is  it  going?  "  They  asked  the  question 
together;  the  question  of  all  France. 

"  It  is  not  for  an  artilleryman  to  say;  but  if  I 
were  you  and  you  have  the  means  I'd  get  away 
— not  that  the  Germans  may  come  here,  but  there 
may  be  shell-fire.  If  you  remain  and  there  is 
shelling,  go  into  the  cellar.  And  don't  alarm  the 
villagers.  They  glut  the  road  with  their  carts." 


THE  GUNS  SPEAK  147 

"  You  are  very  kind.    Good  luck  for  France !  " 

"  For  France!    Au  revoir,  Monsieur!'1 

The  two  cousins  were  startled  by  the  crashes 

of  a   salvo   from  the   battery  before  they  were 

halfway  back  to  the  chateau  grounds. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A  MATTER  OF  GALLANTRY 

A^TER  Helen  had  left  the  room,  Henriette 
staring  at  the  closed  door  suddenly  swept 
toward  it  and  swung  it  half  open,  only  to 
shut  it  with  a  bang.  Doubtfully  she  turned,  then 
sprang  to  the  window  as  if  to  call  Helen  back. 
She  had  a  glimpse  of  her  sister  on  the  path,  but 
again  her  impulse  was  arrested. 

Now  she  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
pressed  her  fingers  to  her  temples,  and  for  a  while 
was  motionless  except  for  the  restless  tapping 
of  her  foot  on  the  floor.  At  length  her  hands 
dropped  to  her  side,  the  tapping  ceased  and, 
with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  she  rose,  turned  on 
the  lights  and  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror, 
where  she  had  always  found  the  solution  of  the 
few  problems  that  had  ever  vexed  her.  As  re 
assuring  this  in  her  present  mood  as  for  the 
miser  to  find  his  gold  still  there  when  he  opens 
his  strong  box  upon  returning  from  a  journey. 
She  smiled  at  the  mirror  and  the  mirror  smiled 
back,  and  she  allowed  herself  a  prolonged,  luxuri 
ous  sigh. 

In  the  cup  of  valley  where  the  chateau  was 
148 


A  MATTER  OF  GALLANTRY      149 

hidden,  surrounded  by  walls  of  trees,  the  sound 
of  the  distant  artillery  duel  was  inaudible;  but  the 
sharp  blasts  of  the  soixante-quinze  from  behind 
the  clump  of  woods  prevented  any  second  sigh. 
She  flew  to  the  window.  Outside  the  silence  of 
the  night  and  again  that  unmistakable  sound.  She 
leaned  against  the  casement  for  support,  trem 
bling. 

Madame  Ribot,  also  looking  into  a  mirror,  had 
also  sprung  to  the  window  and  also  leaned  against 
the  casement  in  a  convulsion  of  trembling.  At 
almost  the  same  instant  mother  and  daughter, 
such  was  their  likeness  of  nature,  recovered  their 
volition  in  the  demand  for  companionship  in 
danger.  Even  with  men  it  is  largely  the  herd 
instinct  which  makes  armies  brave.  The  two 
women  met  on  the  landing  and  involuntarily 
clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  the  fact  of  being 
together  took  the  tremor  out  of  their  limbs. 
Madame  Ribot  became  articulate.  It  was  her 
duty  as  the  elder,  the  parent,  to  show  initiative. 

"  Where  is  Cousin  Phil?  "  she  asked. 

"  Out  in  the  grounds." 

"And  Helen?" 

"  With  him." 

There  was  reassurance  to  her  strictly  feminine 
mind  in  the  utterance  of  that  masculine  pro 
noun.  The  guns  were  silent  for  the  time  being; 
out  of  doors  was  only  the  moist  stillness  of 
night. 


150  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  We  must  find  them,"  said  Madame  Ribot, 
starting  down  the  stairs. 

As  they  reached  the  sitting-room  the  battery 
began  a  vicious  spasm  of  drum-head  fire. 
Madame  Ribot  grasped  the  nearest  thing  to 
steady  herself,  which  was  the  table.  She  broke 
into  a  petulant  rage  which  defied  her  fears  with 
the  truth  of  her  heart. 

"  Truckleford!  That's  it!  There's  no  war 
in  England.  Truckleford  and  the  bore  of  an  old 
parson  and  his  wife !  I  have  nothing  to  do  with 
this  beastly  war.  Why  couldn't  they  keep  it  away 
from  Mervaux?  " 

"  Yes,  Truckleford!  "  assented  Henriette. 

"  If  we  can  get  there,"  continued  her  mother. 
"  We  don't  know  what  may  happen.  The  Ger 
mans  are  blowing  chateaux  and  villages  to  pieces. 
If  we  can  get  there!  Why  doesn't  Helen  come? 
Doesn't  that  cousin  know  we  are  here  alone? 
He  probably  thinks  all  this  is  another  spectacle 
for  an  American  tourist." 

The  firing  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun, 
her  words  sounding  shrewish  in  the  silence  and 
uttered  in  the  face  of  Phil  and  Helen  as  they 
entered  together.  Phil  was  smiling  in  a  way 
that  was  helpful  and  Helen's  manner  was  that 
of  the  elation  of  a  great  experience. 

"  It  must  have  been  awful  for  you,  not  knowing 
what  it  all  meant  and  coming  so  suddenly !  "  she 
said,  at  sight  of  her  mother's  drawn  features. 


A  MATTER  OF  GALLANTRY      151 

Briefly  she  told  what  the  battery  commander  had 
said;  and  then  naturally,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  became  the  family  leader.  "  The  thing  is 
for  everybody  to  pack,"  she  added,  "  and  I'll 
find  out  about  the  trains  and  getting  a  cart  to  the 
station." 

"  Yes,  the  government  takes  all  the  horses  and 
the  trains  and  even  then  they  can't  stop  the  Ger 
mans!  "  Madame  Ribot  complained. 

"  At  least  you  will  let  me  look  up  the  starting 
time,"  Phil  urged.  "  I  know  enough  French  for 
that." 

'  You  could  not  ask  without  alarming  the  vil 
lage,"  she  replied.  "  I  know  whom  to  go  to  for 
a  conveyance." 

Further  concern  on  this  score  was  abated  by 
the  arrival  of  two  gallants,  neck  and  neck,  for 
Count  de  la  Grange  and  General  Rousseau, 
breathless,  reached  the  chateau  together.  They 
addressed  themselves  to  Madame  Ribot  in  char 
acteristic  fashion;  the  General  as  became  a 
soldier,  the  Count  as  became  the  old  noblesse 
come  to  the  succour  of  a  lady  in  distress. 

'  The  French  army  will  hold,"  said  the  Gen 
eral.  "We  are  only  drawing  the  Germans  on; 
but  being  in  the  sphere  of  operations,  it  will  not 
be  comfortable  for  you  here  and,  though  you  are 
in  no  danger,  I  think  an  early  departure  ad 
visable." 

"  The   government  has  left  Paris,"   said  the 


152  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Count,  not  failing  to  appear  important,  "  as  I 
have  just  learned  through  trustworthy  sources." 
(The  station  master  had  told  him.) 

"  Politicians !   Cravens !  "  growled  the  General. 

"  What  does  one  expect  from  a  republic?  "  de 
manded  the  Count. 

"  I  have  served  both  the  republic  and  the  em 
pire,  but  I  always  served  France !  "  replied  the 
General.  "  The  army  will  hold.  Madame 
Ribot,  pack  such  things  as  you  need.  Rest  per 
fectly  assured.  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  And  I  shall  have  my  trap  here  to  take  you 
to  the  first  train.  It  goes  at  seven,"  said  the 
Count,  with  a  side  glance  of  triumph  at  the 
General,  who  had  no  conveyance.  "  I  have  some 
influence  and  I  shall  see  that  you  have  a  place 
— and  I  shall  drive  you  myself." 

Madame  Ribot,  completely  reassured,  gratified 
that  she  had  not  taken  down  her  hair  for  the 
night  and  not  unconscious  that  a  dressing-gown 
became  her  well,  smiled  at  the  Count  with  a 
charming  gratitude. 

"  You  take  it  all  so  calmly,  Madame,  as  I 
knew  you  would,"  he  said.  "  Like  a  true  French 
woman.  It  is  women  who  are  brave,  not 
men." 

The  General  was  tugging  at  his  moustache. 
Thanks  to  one  dilapidated  old  trap,  he  who  had 
led  charges  in  '70  and  fought  from  Gravelotte  to 
Paris  was  holding  a  small  hand;  but  he  was  still 


A  MATTER  OF  GALLANTRY      153 

a  strategist,  who  now  had  a  Napoleonic  flash  of 
initiative. 

"  Madame,  while  as  a  soldier  I  think  there  is 
no  danger,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  re 
main  at  the  chateau  overnight,  so  that  you  will 
know  I  am  near  in  case  there  should  be  an  un 
expected  crisis  which  in  time  of  war  only  a  soldier 
knows  how  to  face.  I  shall  take  forty  winks 
on  the  sofa  here  as  I  have  done  many  times  in 
my  tent  on  campaign.  Ah,  those  days !  And  you 
will  find  me  here  in  the  morning,"  he  concluded, 
turning  triumphantly  to  the  Count. 

Ever  impartial,  Madame  Ribot  now  bestowed 
her  smile  on  the  General. 

"  But  Madame  is  not  afraid,"  put  in  the  Count- 
"  I  fear  she  will  take  your  offer,  General,  as  an 
indication  that  she  is." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Madame  Ribot,  "  it 
takes  crises  like  this  to  prove  what  good  neigh 
bours  one  has.  You  have  assured  my  reaching  the 
station  " — with  a  smile  to  the  Count — "  and  you 
have  assured  that  some  one  is  on  guard,"  with 
a  smile  to  the  General. 

"  But  you  will  have  to  pack,  you  forget  that, 
mon  general! "  the  noblesse  remarked  to  the 
army,  with  extreme  politeness. 

"I  pack!  I  go!"  the  General  snorted.  "I 
shall  not  let  the  Germans  drive  me  from  my 
house!  "  he  said.  "  I  remain!  I  know  that  the 
army  will  hold!  " 


i54  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  And  I  shall  see  Madame  safely  to  Paris,  feel 
ing  that  a  Frenchman  can  serve  France  best  not 
with  the  Germans  but  with  the  French,"  remarked 
the  Count  pithily. 

"  Sometimes  a  soldier  too  old  to  fight  can  serve 
in  other  ways,"  replied  the  General. 

"  Madame,  I  am  sorry  that  it  is  to  be  at  such 
an  early  hour,"  the  Count  concluded,  as  he  kissed 
Madame  Ribot's  hand  and  withdrew.  The  Gen 
eral  also  kissed  it;  and  Madame  Ribot,  quite 
stately,  ascended  to  her  room. 

"  We  also  must  pack,"  said  Henriette  to  Helen. 

They,  too,  went  upstairs  and  left  America 
and  the  French  army  together. 

"A  fine  woman,  Madame  Ribot!"  said  the 
General.  "Ah,  our  guns!  Hear  them!  Our 
guns — and  I  a  gouty  old  man — a  bag  of  bones! 
But  this  old  heart,"  he  placed  his  hand  over  it, 
*'  has  all  the  desire  it  ever  had." 

"  You  can  see  the  guns  from  the  upper  ter 
race,"  suggested  Phil. 

"  Come  on,  then,  Monsieur,"  exclaimed  the 
General.  "  You  will  forgive  me,"  he  added,  as 
they  started  up  the  path,  "  for  intruding  myself 
when  there  was  already  a  man  here,  a  young,  self- 
reliant  man,  as  I  see  you  are.  But  that  pestiferous 
Count!"  he  exclaimed  belligerently;  then  he 
chuckled  philosophically.  "  Ah,  he  and  I  play 
a  game  which  pleases  Madame  and  pleases  us, 
we  who  live  on  memory — though  she  need  not 


A  MATTER  OF  GALLANTRY      155 

if  she  were  not  so  selfish.  I  do  not  like  to  allow 
the  Count  to  score — it  makes  him  so  jealous  when 
you  score  off  him.  Then,  one  must  be  amused 
in  the  country  when  time  hangs  idle  on  the  hands 
and  one  grows  old." 

The  great  main  road  was  now  dark  with  trans 
port  and  infantry  under  the  moonlight,  and  across 
the  fields  squadron  of  cavalry  could  be  seen 
going  at  the  trot.  Every  gun-flash  near  and  far, 
every  movement,  had  its  message  for  General 
Rousseau.  He  talked  of  '70,  ran  on  in  reminis 
cence  as  he  stared  out  into  the  night;  and  finally 
was  silent,  as  if  a  great  weight  had  been  laid 
on  his  heart.  Phil  understood  that  the  signs 
which  the  old  soldier  read  were  not  good. 

'  They  are  the  lucky  ones,  our  officers  and  men 
who  are  fighting,"  he  said.  "  It's  so  simple — 
fighting!  You  forget  everything.  You  do  your 
all  for  France.  I  was  twice  wounded,  Monsieur. 
All  night  I  crawled  and  hid  in  a  barn  till  I  got 
stronger;  and  then  I  worked  my  way  through 
the  German  lines  and  fought  till  I  was  too  weak 
to  stand  in  the  siege.  Yes,  that  was  good — so 
simple!  " 

Was  it  to  be  '70  over  again?  His  army,  his 
France  to  submit  to  the  old  fate?  A  second  and 
final  tragedy  coming? 

'  Yes,  yes — and,"  said  the  General,  a  new  note 
in  his  voice,  as  if  an  inspiration  had  come  to  him, 
"  and  I  may  still  serve  not  only  France,  but  you  in 


156  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

America — all  democracy,  all  civilisation.  Mon 
sieur,  you  will  tell  Madame  Ribot  if  she  does  not 
see  me  again  that  I  had  to  look  after  an  importan; 
affair.  I  am  going  to  locate  some  commander  of 
ours  who  will  pass  me  onto  the  staff.  Yes,  tell 
Madame  that  I  kiss  her  hand." 

His  old  legs  seemed  to  have  found  new  life  as 
he  parted  from  Phil. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  IF  i  WISH  IT!  " 

WHEN  the  two  sisters  went  upstairs,  Hen- 
riette  turned  to  go  to  her  room,  then 
whirled  and  followed  Helen. 

"  Well,  did  you  tell  him?  "  she  demanded,  with 
a  kind  of  ferocity. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Helen,  foreseeing  fresh  tor 
ture. 

"  And  how  did  he  take  it?  " 

"  In  the  mood  that  I  gave  it — good-naturedly, 
as  a  joke." 

"  Oh,  a  joke  !  Yes,  a  joke !  "  Henriette  played 
on  the  word  harshly.  "  He  did  not  renew  the 
proposal  to  you  ?  Strange  !  "  she  laughed.  "  And 
did  you  tell  him  that  you  had  told  me?  " 

The  question  was  so  piercingly  put  that  Helen 
recoiled  slightly. 

"Yes,"   she  said. 

"Another  joke,  that!  Did  you  think  of  the 
position  it  put  me  in?" 

"  But  he  asked  me.    I  could  not  lie  to  him !  " 

"  No,  never!  You  could  not  lie!  "  Henriette 
rejoined.  "  No,  you  did  not  think  what  kind  of  a 
position  it  put  me  in — or  him.  I  know  that  he 

157 


158  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

has  meant  to  propose  to  me.  He  knows  that  I 
know.  Delightful  situation !  Acting  for  me,  did 
you  say  that  I  would  accept  or  refuse?  " 

"  I  said  nothing.     He  said  nothing." 

"  Quite  nothing? "  Henriette  persisted. 
"  Nothing  about  poor,  little,  plain,  much-abused 
sisters?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Henri 
ette.  The  war  is  here.  We  are  both  on  our 
nerves.  And — he  will  propose  again.  He  loves 
you." 

Henriette  smiled  with  something  of  her  usual 
sweetness,  touched  with  a  bantering  acidity. 

"  If  I  wish  it!  "  she  said,  turning  abruptly  to 

go- 

"Henriette,  please  not  to-night!  We  don't 
know  what  may  happen  to-morrow,"  Helen 
pleaded. 

"  I  must  pack,"  replied  Henriette  rather  ir 
relevantly,  and  was  gone. 

Irritating  enough  this  task  at  all  times,  let 
alone  when  you  may  take  only  a  small  box  and 
everything  that  you  leave  behind  may  fall  into 
the  hands  of  a  conqueror.  Henriette  looked  into 
the  big  closet  at  the  array  of  gowns  and  the  row 
of  shoes  under  the  drooping  skirts  and  spread  out 
her  hands  hopelessly. 

"  I  can  buy  new  gowns,"  she  said.  "  It's  the 
laces  and  jewelry  and  the  mementoes  that  must 
go." 


"IF  I  WISH  IT!"  159 

She  unlocked  an  old  carved  chest  and  in  turn 
unlocked  a  drawer  within  which  was  crammed  full 
of  bundles  of  letters,  each  tied  with  a  bit  of  pink 
ribbon.  There  must  have  been  a  dozen  bundles 
and  she  smiled  at  their  number. 

"  When  I  am  so  young,  too !  "  she  mused. 
"Why  take  them?  Why  not  leave  them  locked 
up  ?  But  the  Germans  might  break  open  the  chest 
and  read  them.  No,  they  must  go — at  the  very 
bottom  of  the  trunk;  "  where  she  laid  the  trophies 
of  conquest  before  she  thought  of  anything  else. 

The  firing  had  died  down.  All  sense  of  fear 
had  departed.  After  slipping  into  her  kimono 
she  moved  about  the  room  swiftly,  gathering  her 
most  precious  things.  She  had  forgotten  to  draw 
the  shade  and  Phil,  returning  from  the  terrace, 
saw  her  figure  flitting  about  as  he  came  down  the 
path.  Pausing  to  regard  the  trunk  which  was 
already  giving  signs  of  the  limit  of  its  capacity, 
she  heard  the  sound  of  his  step  on  the  gravel. 
Leaning  out  of  the  window  she  called  to  him. 

"  Have  you  been  out  to  see  the  battle  again? 
I  suppose  you  felt  you  might  go  as  long  as  the 
General  remains  on  the  sofa  to  guard  us  poor, 
lone  women !  " 

"  He  went  on  some  errand  and  begged  me  to 
express  his  regrets  if  he  does  not  see  you  again," 
Phil  replied. 

"  My  packing  has  gone  on  so  fast  that  I  am 
coming  down  and  going  to  the  terrace  for  a 


160  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

look  for  myself."  She  gave  a  glance  in  the  mir 
ror.  The  kimono  was  good  enough;  it  was 
particularly  becoming,  besides.  "  Aren't  we  giv 
ing  you  more  entertainment  than  we  promised  at 
Mervaux?"  she  asked  merrily,  as  she  joined 
him. 

"But  oughtn't  you  to  sleep?"  he  suggested. 
"  Seven  is  a  pretty  early  hour.  There's  no  telling 
how  much  rest  you'll  get  to-morrow." 

"Sleep?"  She  looked  at  him,  with  the  light 
of  the.  lamp  from  the  hall  dancing  in  her  eyes. 
u  One  must  be  sleepy  in  order  to  sleep." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  not." 

"  Was  Helen  very  frightened  when  the  guns 
began  firing?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  he  replied. 

;' Why  should  she  be?  Why  should  any  one 
be?" 

As  they  passed  the  dark  spot  under  the  tree 
where  Helen  had  been  sitting  when  he  had  stolen 
up  behind  her,  mistaking  her  for  another,  it  might 
have  occurred  to  both  that  it  would  be  an  awk 
ward  stroll  if  the  monstrous  fact  of  the  war's 
proximity  had  not  dwarfed  personal  concerns. 
From  the  terrace  they  could  hear  the  creaking 
of  wheels  on  the  road,  though  the  battery  behind 
the  trees  was  silent.  No  movement  of  the  gun 
ners,  who  had  dropped  asleep  in  exhaustion.  In 
the  distance  were  still  occasional  flashes.  Hun 
dreds  of  thousands  of  men  were  moving  over 


"IF  I  WISH  IT!"  161 

there  under  cover  of  darkness  or  sleeping  on  the 
dew-moist  fields  before  the  morrow's  action. 

"  And  one  does  not  know  when  one  will  ever 
be  here  again,"  she  said. 

'  The  portrait  unfinished,  too,"  he  suggested. 

'  Yes.  What  a  happy  time  we  have  had  doing 
it!  "  she  exclaimed. 

"You  had,  too?"  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  had.  And  we  are  going  to  finish 
it,  aren't  we,  cousin,  at  Truckleford?  Won't 
you  come  there  ?  " 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  with  a  slight  pres 
sure — a  cousinly  privilege.  The  moonlight  was 
strong  enough  to  make  her  features  visible;  the 
dark  hair  and  brows,  the  shining  eyes  and  the 
smiling  lips.  She  was  very  beautiful,  unreally  so, 
there  in  the  moonlight.  She  knew  and  he  knew 
that  she  knew  what  had  happened  three  hours 
ago,  before  the  war  had  come  to  Mervaux.  Her 
hand  was  still  on  his  arm.  He  took  it  in  his  and 
she  did  not  protest. 

'Yes!     How  could  I  resist?"  he  exclaimed. 

U   T M 

"Agreed!  You've  promised!"  she  cried 
triumphantly,  giving  his  hand  a  shake  and  draw 
ing  away.  "  Now  to  finish  the  infernal  trunk  and 
on  to  Truckleford !  " 

"  Isn't  there  some  packing  I  can  do?  "  he  asked 
when  they  reached  the  house.  "  I  feel  utterly 
helpkrss." 


1 62  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Nothing,  unless  you  can  put  more  gowns  into 
my  trunk  than  I  can,"  she  replied. 

"  But  all  the  bric-a-brac  and  your  pictures!  I 
can  put  them  in  closets  and  lock  the  door.  And 
the  china,  too !  " 

But  Jacqueline  already  had  this  in  hand. 

"  I'll  help  you !  "  said  Phil. 

44  Come  on,  then,"  said  the  businesslike  Jac 
queline.  "  We  need  a  man  who  can  fetch  and 
carry." 

"  And  who'll  obey  orders,  I  see.  I  await  your 
commands." 

44  And  I'll  join  you  later !  "  called  Henriette. 


CHAPTER   XV 

HELEN   ASKS   A   FAVOUR 

THE  glow  of  satisfaction  which   Madame 
Ribot  had  enjoyed  during  the  gallantries 
of  the  General  and  the  Count  soon  passed 
when  she  was  behind  the  scenes.     Between  direc 
tions  to  the  maid  and  continual  changes  of  mind 
as  to  what  she  would  and  would  not  have  packed, 
she  scolded  the  war. 

"  Why  couldn't  the  prefect  or  the  army 
authorities  have  told  us  in  time,  so  we  could 
have  got  away  like  Christians?"  she  grumbled. 
'  Wasn't  it  their  business  to  know  that  the 
Germans  were  coming?  It's  shameful,  indecent, 
barbarous !  Well?  " — this  last  irritably  in  answer 
to  a  rap  at  her  door.  "  Come  in!  " 

When  she  saw  that  it  was  Helen  her  frown 
deepened.  It  was  a  petulant  frown  which  would 
have  surprised  the  Count  and  the  General;  yet, 
perhaps  it  would  not.  They  were  wise  old  men, 
particularly  the  General. 

"  More  bad  news?  "  exclaimed  Madame  Ribot. 
She  had  been  used  to  regarding  Helen  as  a  har 
binger  of  bad  news  since  her  birth.  "  It  must  be  ! 
You  look  as  if  you  regarded  the  whole  thing  as 

163 


1 64  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

a  lark.  Of  course  you  would.  Everything  goes 
by  contraries  with  you !  "  she  continued. 
"Well?" 

Helen  was  elate,  despite  the  scene  with  Hen- 
riette;  elate  with  decision. 

"  I  came  to  ask  a  favour,"  she  said.  It  was 
hardly  a  diplomatic  beginning,  considering  her 
mother's  state  of  mind. 

"  A  favour !  At  this  time  !  That  is  like  you, 
too." 

"  Some  one  ought  to  look  after  the  house  while 
we  are  gone,"  Helen  went  on  hurriedly. 

"  Jacqueline — and  the  mayor  and  the  cure. 
What  do  we  have  officials  and  priests  for?  " 

"  I  meant  myself,  too." 

"  You?  I  should  not  call  that  a  favour.  You 
mean  to  be  here  alone  when  the  Germans  come?  " 

"  I  don't  think  they  will  harm  me,"  said  Helen 
soberly. 

Madame  Ribot  gave  her  daughter  a  sweep 
ing  look,  which  was  cuttingly  significant. 

"  No,  not  you !  "  she  exclaimed;  and  noting  the 
two  red  spots  which  appeared  in  Helen's  cheeks 
she  added:  "  You  know  how  to  look  after  your 
self." 

Her  mother's  thought  so  quickly  comprehended 
had  cut  deep,  but  only  for  an  instant.  Then  it 
gave  urgency  to  her  desire.  Her  words  came 
panting,  as  if  she  were  striving  for  a  goal. 

"  Mother,    it's    my   chance — the    chance    that 


HELEN  ASKS  A  FAVOUR         165 

comes  only  once !  You  see,  I  am  what  I  am  and 
this  is  the  thing  that  I  want  to  do.  I'll  see  real 
war  and  the  soldiers  and  the  villagers  in  the  midst 
of  it — and  the  Germans,  too !  Oh,  how  I  can 
draw!  I'll  not  need  to  be  clever,  the  subject  is 
so  great."  The  daughter's  intensity  communi 
cated  its  directness  to  the  mother.  "  It  will  not 
be  necessary  to  say  a  word  to  Henriette  or  Cousin 
Phil,  or  anybody  about  the  plan,"  she  went  on. 
"  You  see,  I  shall  start  to  walk  to  the  station. 
You  will  all  be  aboard,  the  train  will  go  and  I 
shall  be  left  behind." 

But  Helen's  self-reliant  precision  was  too  valu 
able.  Madame  Ribot  did  not  like  to  part  with  it 
in  such  a  crisis. 

"  And  desert  me  when  I  need  you !  What  kind 
of  a  mother  do  you  think  I  am  to  permit  such  an 
arrangement  as  this?" 

'  The  Count  will  see  you  safely  on  the  train 
to  Paris  and  I  can  finish  packing  all  your  things 
and  put  them  in  the  garret  under  lock  and  key, 
and  you  will  return  to  find  nothing  disturbed." 

Madame  Ribot's  glance  followed  Helen's 
around  the  litter  of  clothing  on  the  floor. 

"  Really,  one  of  us  ought  to  stay  and  look 
after  the  things!  "  Helen  urged.  "  Please!  " 

'  Very  well.  Do,  my  dear !  "  her  mother 
agreed. 

She  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  Helen  drew 
a  deep  breath  which  filled  the  depths  of  her  eyes 


1 66  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

with  the  triumph  of  freedom  from  the  memory 
of  the  scene  under  the  tree  and  of  more  things 
than  her  mind  could  catalogue.  Even  Madame 
Ribot  was  susceptible  to  the  glory  of  those  eyes. 
It  occurred  to  her  that  Helen  did  have  moments 
when  she  was  not  plain. 

"Thank  you,  mother!"  she  said.  "I — 

I "  and  she  caught  her  mother's  hands  in  hers 

and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  "  And  not  a 
word  to  anybody!" 

The  desire  for  movement  which  always  came 
to  her  when  she  was  happy  called  for  the  open. 
She  did  not  know  where  she  should  go,  but  some 
where  out  into  the  night  under  the  stars,  in  sight 
of  the  gun-flashes.  Below,  she  found  Phil  and 
Jacqueline  gathering  bric-a-brac  and  china  and 
wrapping  it  in  papers  and  putting  it  in  a  chest. 

"  You're  through  packing?  "  Phil  asked. 

"  Quite  reacly,"  said  Helen.  He  was  the  one 
person  she  did  not  want  to  meet. 

"  Then  sleep  for  you !  No  telling  whether 
you'll  get  any  to-morrow." 

"  I  could  not — not  to-night!  "  The  joy  of  her 
decision  still  remained  in  her  eyes  and  her  ex 
clamation  sounded  a  vitality  that  seemed  to  live 
on  itself. 

"  In  that  case,  Jacqueline  and  I  will  welcome 
an  assistant,"  said  he. 

She  could  hardly  go  moon-gazing  when  there 
was  something  to  do,  so  she  joined  in  their  task. 


HELEN  ASKS  A  FAVOUR         167 

They  rolled  up  rugs;  they  took  down  Henriette's 
pictures  and  put  all  in  a  closet,  which  was  locked 
when  it  was  full  to  overflowing.  It  was  strange 
doing  this  when  she  would  be  there  to-morrow, 
and  stranger  still  working  with  him  in  view  of 
what  had  happened.  At  length  it  became  op 
pressive,  even  torturing  in  its  fellowship  of  talk 
and  laughter.  For  she  found  herself  laughing  a 
number  of  times  when  their  glances  met  as  he 
passed  her  something  and  she  relied  on  his  mas 
culine  strength  and  he  on  her  deftness  of  fingers 
in  their  work. 

"  Enough !  There's  little  left  that  the  Ger 
mans  can  harm.  I  really  believe  I  could  sleep 
now !  "  she  exclaimed. 

'  We  can  lie  down  for  a  couple  of  hours,  any 
way,"  he  said. 

They  went  upstairs  together  and  parted  at 
the  landing. 

"  Good-night — or  is  it  good-morning? "  he 
said. 

"Good-morning!"  she  answered.  For  an 
instant  of  silence  both  seemed  arrested  as  they 
looked  at  each  other;  then  Helen  turned  abruptly 
toward  her  room. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  CHANGE  OF  PLANS 

COUNT  DE  LA  GRANGE  was  in  the  yard 
with  his  trap  and  a  peasant's  cart  for  the 
baggage  soon  after  dawn.  He  was  fret 
ting  a  little  lest  his  passengers  should  be  late, 
but  relieved  to  find  that  the  General  was  absent. 

"  There  will  be  a  crush.  All  the  village  knows. 
Everybody  is  trying  to  get  away,"  he  said. 

Jacqueline  had  coffee  ready  and  insisted  that 
they  must  take  it  before  they  started.  Madame 
Ribot  wore  a  veil  and  had  too  much  powder  on 
her  face;  but  nothing  was  lacking  in  hers  or  the 
Count's  manners.  Not  until  he  had  helped  her 
into  the  trap,  and  they  were  well  started  on  the 
way,  did  it  occur  to  any  one  to  ask  where  Helen 
was. 

"  She  is  walking  to  the  station,"  said  Madame 
Ribot,  with  ready  ease,  "  as  she  wanted  to  see 
some  one  in  the  village." 

"  It  is  the  last  train,"  said  the  Count,  "  but  I 
told  the  station  master  not  to  sn.y  so  to  the  public 
or  the  station  might  be  mobbed.  I  have  the 
tickets.  Though  I've  been  up  all  night  I  feel 
quite  fresh." 

1 68. 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLANS  169 

"  I  knew  that  I  could  depend  upon  you,  even  if 
the  General  did  not  come,"  Madame  Ribot  as 
sured  him. 

u  I  wonder  where  the  General  is?"  remarked 
the  Count,  confidentially  flicking  the  venerable 
horse  with  the  whip  and  holding  the  reins  in  the 
manner  of  one  driving  a  four-in-hand. 

"  He  had  other  business,  I  was  told,"  said 
Madame  Ribot  casually. 

At  that  moment,  indeed,  the  General  was  con 
cerned  with  whether  it  was  better  to  put  a  basket 
of  carrier  pigeons  under  his  bed  or  in  a  closet 
off  the  kitchen,  and  this  old  soldier  of  France 
was  little  concerned  with  any  rivalry  with  the 
Count  or  with  Madame  Ribot's  affairs.  He  had 
forgotten  their  existence. 

It  was  well  that  the  Count  had  the  tickets  or 
he  could  hardly  have  got  past  the  crowd  of  old 
men  and  women  and  children  and  their  belong 
ings  in  every  kind  of  portmanteau  or  knotted  in 
handkerchiefs,  towels  and  sheets,  and  well  that  he 
had  influence  with  the  station  master  which  took 
the  party  onto  the  platform  before  the  others. 
Places  were  found  in  the  train  for  Madame  Ribot 
and  Henriette  to  sit  down,  while  the  Count  and 
Phil  stood,  with  bundles  and  children  around  their 
legs. 

"  But  Helen  has  not  come  !  "  exclaimed  Phil. 

"  Nor  will  she  I  "  said  Madame  Ribot,  weary 
and  irritated.  She  had  not  risen  before  nine  for 


170  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

many  years  and  loathed  travelling  even  in  a 
first-class  compartment  alone,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  present  disgustingly  crowded  conditions. 
"  Her  walking  to  the  station  was  a  ruse.  She  is 
going  to  remain  at  Mervaux  to  look  after  our 
things." 

"Alone,  with  the  Germans  coming?  "  Phil  de 
manded.  He  also  showed  signs  of  irritation  to 
match  hers. 

"  She  begged  to,"  Madame  Ribot  explained. 
"  Some  one  ought  to  stay,  and  she  said  it  would 
give  her  subjects  for  her  drawings." 

"  A  fine  courage,  but " 

Already  the  station  master  was  ringing  his  bell. 
Phil  dragged  his  bag  from  under  the  seat  and 
sprang  out  onto  the  platform. 

"  I'll  bring  her  by  the  next  train !  "  he  called. 

"  There  will  be  no  next  train !  "  put  in  the 
Count. 

"  At  any  rate,  she  must  not  be  left  alone  to 
receive  the  German  army!  " 

"  Perhaps  she  doesn't  want  you !  "  put  in 
Henriette,  rising  and  leaning  out  of  the  window 
in  protest.  "  I  wouldn't.  It's  Helen's  own  idea 
and  I  know  Helen.  Come  to  Paris  with  us!  " 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  Mervaux  to  see  the  Ger 
mans!"  Phil  replied  promptly. 

Henriette  gave  her  mother  a  swift  glance,  then 
one  at  Phil. 

"If  Helen,  why  not  I?"  she  exclaimed. 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLANS  171 

"  But "  gasped  Madame  Ribot.  She  half 

rose,  put  out  her  hand  to  arrest  Henriette  who 
had  taken  up  her  own  bag,  but  was  jerked  back 
to  her  seat  by  the  motion  of  the  starting  train. 

"  To  Mervaux,  now  we've  seen  you  safe  on 
your  way!  "  said  Henriette.  "  It's  what  I  wanted 
to  do  all  the  time." 

She  passed  her  bag  to  Phil  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  him  as  he  ran  beside  the  train.  He 
caught  her  literally  in  his  arms  as  she  whirled 
around  when  she  alighted,  and  she  was  smiling 
up  into  his  eyes  with  adventure's  call  in  her  own 
after  she  was  firm  on  her  feet,  her  face  close  to 
his. 

"  Thank  you,  cousin!  Well  done!  "  she  mur 
mured. 

Madame  Ribot  had  collapsed,  her  head  bent, 
her  hands  drooped  in  her  lap. 

'  We  are  off !  You  need  have  no  worries  now, 
Madame,"  said  the  Count.  "  No  army  can  travel 
as  fast  as  a  railroad  train." 

But  she  did  not  hear  him  and  was  all  uncon 
scious  of  her  surroundings.  Just  one  thing  was 
clear  in  her  mind:  the  look  that  Henriette  had 
given  Phil  when  she  made  her  decision.  The 
mother  and  probably  she  alone,  though  a  thousand 
people  had  looked  on,  would  have  recognised  its 
meaning.  The  thing  had  come  and  in  the  way 
she  had  dreaded.  She  who  had  relived  her  youth 
in  her  daughter  had  seen  the  last  chapter  of  her 


172  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

own  story  reflected  in  the  feature  which  she  had 
most  dreaded.  She  had  flirted  with  many 
men  without  more  than  a  flutter  of  the  heart 
and  so  had  Henriette.  Then  she  had  fallen 
in  love  suddenly,  without  reason,  and  in  head 
strong  insistence  had  married,  to  repent  after 
ward. 

One  cause  alone  had  sent  Henriette  back  to 
Mervaux:  the  man  who  was  returning  there  in 
order  that  Helen  should  not  be  alone.  After  all 
the  chances  she  had  had  and  played  with,  Hen 
riette,  too,  had  acted  without  reason  when  the 
impulse  came.  Helen  was  to  blame.  It  was 
partly  jealousy  with  Henriette,  as  it  had  been 
with  Madame  Ribot;  the  desire  for  conquest 
baffled  by  some  humbler  person.  Her  daughter 
was  "  running  after  "  this  cousin  from  America 
who  had  nothing  to  offer  except  America;  but  so 
had  she  herself  run  after  a  man  who,  at  least, 
was  not  poor. 

Back  with  Phil  in  face  of  all  the  proprieties 
which  Madame  Ribot  held  in  such  esteem  in  her 
later  years!  All  her  hopes  and  plans  ruined!  It 
was  wicked,  ungrateful,  shameful — and  due  to  the 
damnable  war.  But  she  had  done  her  best  for 
Henriette.  Why  worry?  She  had  to  live.  She 
had  had  no  sleep.  She  was  in  a  wretched  state 
and  she  must  look  a  hundred  years  old.  Worry 
made  wrinkles.  Her  conscience  was  clear  and — 
yes,  she  had  to  live.  Experience  was  the  only 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLANS  173 

teacher.  Henriette  would  have  to  repent  at 
leisure  as  she  herself  had  done. 

"  You  arranged  it  all  wonderfully,"  she  said, 
as  she  looked  up  with  one  of  her  choice  smiles  to 
the  Count. 

"  Madame,  the  object  of  my  service  made  it  a 
delight?"  said  the  Count. 

He  tried  to  arrange  the  baggage  to  give  her 
feet  more  freedom  and  at  the  same  time  to  keep 
from  twitching  from  twinges  of  gout.  He  felt 
twice  as  old  as  Madame  Ribot. 

Back  in  his  little  house  the  General,  who  had 
decided  to  keep  the  pigeons  under  his  bed,  felt 
as  young  as  he  had  at  Gravelotte.  Such  is  the 
way  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UNDER  FIRE 

YES,  an  awkward  business,  this,  of  a  man 
and  two  girl  cousins  in  a  country  house. 
Phil  was  sensible  of  it  as  he  started  to  walk 
back  from  the  station  with  Henriette,  carrying  her 
bag  and  his  own. 

"  We  have  Jacqueline,"  she  said,  as  if  divining 
what  was  in  his  mind.  "  A  most  dependable 
person,  Jacqueline.  Mother  is  quite  safe  and 
we  shall  see  the  war.  Besides,  we  simply  could 
not  leave  Helen  alone." 

Coming  to  the  top  of  a  rise  they  stopped  short. 
The  steady  thunder  of  the  guns  became  suddenly 
audible  and  against  the  green  background  of 
distant  woods  little  puffs  of  smoke  that  seemed 
born  of  nothing  were  breaking  and  spreading  into 
a  mist  which  was  as  innocent-looking  as  a  fleecy 
cloud  on  a  summer  day. 

"  One  cannot  realise  what  is  going  on  there," 
remarked  Phil,  "  though  we  shall  if  it  comes  to 
us." 

"  Then  we  go  into  the  cellar,  don't  we,  and 
wait?" 

174 


UNDER  FIRE  175 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  rule,"  he  said.  "  You've  a 
good  spirit." 

"  That  is  easy  when  a  woman  has  a  man  along 
whom  she  can  rely  upon,"  she  replied  cheerfully. 
"  We  have  not  been  used  to  having  a  man  at 
Mervaux." 

When  they  entered  the  house  they  found  that 
Helen  was  still  absent.  Jacqueline  did  not  know 
where  she  had  gone. 

"  I  suppose  the  first  thing  is  to  settle  down 
again,"  said  Henriette. 

Phil  took  her  bag  upstairs.  When  he  returned 
to  the  sitting-room  Helen  was  just  entering. 

"You!"  she  exclaimed.  "I "  and  she 

paused,  no  words  coming  to  her.  When  she  had 
thought  that  the  house,  the  world,  and  the  bat 
tle  were  hers  came  this  intrusion  by  the  one 
person  whom  she  did  not  wish  to  see  again!  She 
ought  to  welcome  him  and  she  could  not  break 
silence. 

i4  We  could  not  let  you  remain  here  alone  when 
we  heard  that  you  were  going  to  stay,"  he  ex 
plained.  "  In  fact,  could  you  expect  any  decent 
cousin  to  do  otherwise?  "  he  added. 

Her  eyes  which  had  been  stonily  dull  gave 
their  first  signal.  It  was  smiling  mischief,  which 
developed  into  one  of  her  laughs. 

"  It  was  such  a  surprise  that  I  must  have  looked 
as  if  I  were  seeing  ghosts,"  she  said.  "  It's  a 
tribute  to  Jacqueline's  omelets.  You  see,  I  relied 


176  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

on  them  to  keep  the  Germans  from  looting  the 
house.  I  meant  to  meet  the  invader  with  an 
omelet  instead  of  an  olive  branch." 

She  carried  the  part  off  well  once  she  was 
started,  leaving  him  puzzled  and  wishing  that  she 
would  continue  her  mood — any  mood  that  livened 
her  features. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  think  I  could  stand  at  the  door 
and  defy  the  German  hosts!"  he  explained. 
"  Only,  being  a  man,  well — I " 

"  You  were  going  to  play  the  masculine  part 
of  protector.  I  do  feel  more  safe.  Any  woman 
must,  being  a  woman  and  subject  to  conventional 
sex  inheritances  " — this  with  a  trifle  of  condescen 
sion,  which  was  shattered  by  utter  astonishment 
as  Henriette  appeared. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  make  you  jump  out  of 
your  shoes,"  said  Henriette. 

"Mother  was  aboard  the  train  all  right?" 
Helen  asked. 

"Yes;  quite." 

"  Did  she  want  you  to  come  back,  too?  " 

"  No.  What  kind  of  a  sister  did  you  think 
I  was,  you  brave,  foolish  Helen?  Did  you  think 
I  would  go  to  Paris  and  leave  you  here?" 

She  had  slipped  her  arm  around  Helen's  waist 
with  a  rallying  burst  of  affection,  which  concluded 
with  a  kiss  and  a  nestling  of  her  cheek  against 
Helen's  as  she  looked  at  Phil.  The  two  faces 
were  close  together,  Henriette  smiling  devotedly 


UNDER  FIRE  177 

and  Helen  quite  still  in  contrast;  the  one  at  her 
best  and  the  other  at  her  worst.  Then  Helen 
looked  around  at  her  sister  studiously  and  back 
at  Phil. 

"  I'm  glad  you  both  came,"  she  said.  "  I — 
is  there  another  train  to  Paris?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

"  No,  that  was  the  last,"  Phil  answered. 

"  So  we  are  here  together,  come  what  will," 
she  said  slowly,  with  an  odd  emphasis.  "  I  just 
came  back  for  my  drawing  things.  The  French 
are  retreating  along  the  road  and  the  German 
shells  are  coming  nearer.  I  can't  afford  to  waste 
a  minute." 

She  took  up  her  drawing  materials  from  the 
table.  As  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  some 
thing  in  her  attitude  made  Phil  arrest  her. 

"  You  are  not  going  into  danger?  " 

"No,  not  in  the  least;  to  sketch  is  all,"  she 
replied. 

"  I  think  that  my  part  is  to  keep  watch  of  you," 
he  said.  "  May  I  go  with  you?" 

"  And  I  want  to  see,  too !  "  Henriette  put  in. 

"  Come  on,  then.  If  you  are  going  to  look  after 
us  both  we  must  not  be  separated,"  said  Helen. 

She  walked  ahead,  however,  leaving  them  to 
follow.  From  the  terrace  they  cut  across  the  fields 
behind  the  battery.  Its  commander  was  too  busy 
to  pay  any  attention  to  them  and  the  rider  with  the 
caissons  galloping  over  the  field  with  more  shells, 


178  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

careening  and  slewing  as  the  knowing  hands 
guided  the  horses,  did  not  give  even  passing  notice 
to  the  young  man  and  two  young  women. 

Helen  dropped  on  the  ground  with  her  back 
to  a  shock  of  wheat  and  began  to  sketch  the  bat 
tery.  She  was  in  action  no  less  than  the  gunners 
of  the  soixante-quinze,  whom  she  made  live  in 
lines  drawn  by  her  swift  fingers  on  white  paper. 
Phil,  unable  to  tell  what  was  the  gunners'  target 
or  which  if  any  of  the  white  balls  of  smoke  in 
the  distance  were  made  by  the  screaming  mes 
sengers  they  sent,  looked  around  at  her  and  it 
seemed  quite  in  keeping  that  she  should  be  present, 
her  shoulders  drawn  in,  her  lips  moving,  as  she 
sketched,  with  Phil  and  Henriette  in  the  role  of 
spectators. 

"  Now  for  the  road !  "  she  said,  rising. 

There,  mistily  through  the  dust,  blue  coats 
and  red  trousers  showed  in  a  moving  stream  to 
the  rear  between  intervals  of  transport.  The 
guns  had  had  something  of  the  splendour  of  war, 
but  not  these  weary  men  leaving  the  soil  of 
France  behind  to  the  enemy,  beards  from  four 
weeks'  campaigning  white  and  brown  with  dust, 
eyes  sunken,  feet  hobbling  and  sore,  plodding 
on  to  the  rear. 

From  this  point  of  high  ground  a  small  town 
was  visible  in  another  lap  of  the  hills,  where 
French  towns  prefer  to  lie  snug  from  the  wind. 
The  air  was  clear;  sound  carried  far.  A  scream 


UNDER  FIRE  179 

different  from  that  of  the  shells  from  the  mouth 
of  French  guns  was  heard;  a  scream  that  came 
toward  them  and  ended  in  a  crash,  as  if  a  steel 
ball  had  split  into  fragments,  as  it  had.  Over  the 
house-tops  of  the  town  rose  a  cloud  of  dust  and 
black  smoke.  Then  another,  and,  sound  travel 
ling  slower  than  sight,  they  again  heard  the  rush 
of  the  projectile  and  its  burst.  Henriette  gripped 
Phil's  arm,  but  said  nothing. 

An  officer  of  infantry  looked  around  and 
nodded  at  the  burst  over  the  town  in  understand 
ing.  He  spoke  to  an  old  colonel  with  white  mous 
tache  who  seemed  asleep  on  his  horse.  The 
colonel  shook  his  head  as  much  as  to  say  that 
there  was  no  danger;  that  nothing  could  reach 
them  at  that  range. 

Helen  had  not  seen  the  bursts  in  the  town.  She 
was  trying  to  get  the  old  colonel,  the  wounded 
men  on  the  tops  of  wagons,  the  wounded  on  foot, 
in  lines  which  should  tell  of  the  meaning  of  re 
treat  in  the  suggestiveness  of  types. 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  we  ought  to  remain  here," 
said  Phil. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Helen. 

He  pointed  to  the  bursting  shells. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  go  away!"  was  her  only 
response. 

Then  the  pencil  dropped  from  her  hand.  Phil 
ducked  as  instinctively  as  if  some  one  had  struck 
the  back  of  his  neck  and  Henriette  clung  close  to 


i8o  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

him  with  a  cry  of  terror,  for  that  approaching 
scream  which  had  been  distant  was  coming 
straight  for  them  in  the  growing  volume  of  a 
horror  that  froze  the  marrow.  All  the  men  on  the 
road  struck  for  one  side  or  the  other,  their 
ducking  forms  flashing  immutably  on  the  retina 
of  the  eye  in  that  awful  second  before  a  cloud 
of  earth  and  dust  spouted  from  an  explosion  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road. 

They  were  still  alive.  It  was  miraculous  that 
they  should  be  when  they  had  died  a  score  of 
deaths  in  that  second.  Helen  tried  to  pick  up 
her  pencil  and  Henriette  moaned:  this  much  of 
an  impression  before  the  second  shell  came.  It 
was  nearer;  death  this  time,  without  doubt.  But 
it  burst  a  hundred  yards  in  front  of  them  and 
some  fragments  whizzed  by  their  ears. 

Phil  looked  around  for  cover;  for  anything 
which  would  give  them  some  protection.  There 
was  nothing  near  except  wheat  shocks.  He 
swung  Henriette  around  on  the  other  side  of  him 
from  the  direction  of  the  shells  and  called  out  to 
lie  down.  He  could  think  of  nothing  else  unless 
they  ran.  But  which  way  should  they  run?  The 
next  burst  was  between  them  and  the  house;  the 
next  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  That  was 
four.  He  remembered  that  batteries  had  four 
guns  and  fired  in  salvos.  The  target  was  evidently 
the  road  and  the  thing  to  do,  then,  must  be  to 
get  away  from  the  road. 


UNDER  FIRE  181 

"  Run  for  it!  "  he  cried.     "  That  gully!  " 

Helen  sprang  up.  Henriette  tried  to  rise  and 
could  not.  She  was  numbed  with  terror.  Her 
eyes  in  mortal  appeal  spoke  her  helplessness.  He 
was  almost  glad  of  this.  It  made  him  seem  of 
some  use  as  a  masculine  being  in  face  of  this 
hellish  burst  of  destruction,  which  made  unarmed 
men  as  feeble  as  a  fly  under  a  hammer.  He  did 
the  natural  thing,  picked  her  up  in  his  arms.  She 
seemed  very  light,  very  yielding  and  trembling 
and  strangely  pale,  beautiful,  and  trusting. 

"  Hurry  on,  Helen !  I'll  keep  up  with  you,  I'm 
so  scared  I  "  he  called. 

His  voice  sounded  quite  merry,  as  he  meant  it 
should.  What  travesty!  He  wished  that  he 
were  back  in  Longfield  or  Mexico,  anywhere  than 
in  that  particular  portion  of  France  which  a  Ger 
man  battery  was  pounding.  Other  figures  were 
running,  too.  The  world  seemed  full  of  skurrying 
figures.  Flight  was  the  fashion. 

More  screams,  ending  in  explosions,  and  with 
every  one  the  figure  in  his  arms  trembled.  But 
each  scream  was  farther  behind  them  as  they 
hurried  on.  When  he  reached  the  gully  he  laid 
his  burden  on  the  grass  at  the  bottom  of  it.  If  the 
target  were  the  road  they  ought  to  be  safe.  At 
least,  he  could  take  a  mmute  to  decide  what 
next  to  do.  He  looked  back  toward  the  road  and 
saw  the  soldiers  forming  line  in  the  fields  under 
the  direction  of  their  officers.  The  old  colonel 


1 82  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

sitting  erect  on  his  horse  still  remained  beside  the 
road,  shouting  his  commands.  A  black  cloud  hid 
him  and  when  it  cleared  away  he  and  the  horse 
were  gone  and  there  was  a  hole  in  the  road  where 
they  had  been.  Then  a  crack  overhead  drew 
Phil's  attention  from  the  road.  There  was  a 
whizzing  through  the  air  and  little  spurts  of  dust 
rose  from  the  earth,  and  over  all  a  puff  of  smoke 
like  those  he  had  seen  in  the  distance  against  the 
green  hills.  Phil  understood  that  this  was  shrap 
nel  and  the  other  which  burst  in  the  earth  was  a 
high  explosive. 

What  next?  The  gully  was  not  long.  Should 
he  attempt  another  run?  But  a  shrapnel  burst 
ing  over  the  other  end  of  the  gully  made  him 
hesitate.  The  two  girls  were  hugging  the  bank 
and  he  dropped  down  beside  Henriette,  who 
caught  his  hand  in  hers,  trembling  again  with 
new  fear.  Helen  was  lying  face  downward,  hold 
ing  fast  to  her  portfolio.  She  looked  toward  him 
and  in  her  eyes  was  the  mischievous  challenge  and 
on  her  lips  was  playing  the  same  humour  he  had 
seen  across  the  table  at  Truckleford. 

"  Now  don't  you  wish  you  had  gone  on  to 
Paris?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  unless  you  came,"  he  answered.  "  Look 
there !  " 

Another  high  explosive  had  burst,  and  where 
they  had  been  sitting  beside  the  road  a  rising 
column  of  smoke  showed  a  hole. 


UNDER  FIRE  183 

"  I — I "  whispered  Henriette,  and  her 

eyes  spoke  what  her  lips  could  not. 

But  was  the  road  the  target?  Another  scream 
straight  for  them  and  again  they  thought: 
"This  is  death!"  The  explosion  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  short  of  the  gully  covered  them  with 
dust.  A  human  something,  red  and  blue,  half 
rolled,  half  tumbled  down  the  bank  at  their  feet 
and  lay  there  inert,  stunned.  A  gash  showed  on 
the  soldier's  cheek  and  his  hand  reached  for  his 
arm  where  the  torn  flesh  was  trickling  red.  With 
the  other  he  fumbled  instinctively  for  a  first  field 
dressing. 

Here  was  something  positive  to  do.  Phil, 
who  had  envied  the  cool  officers  directing  their 
men  in  the  preoccupation  of  action,  tore  down  the 
sleeve  and  opened  the  dressing.  There  was  silence 
now;  no  screams  in  the  air;  no  explosions.  Yes, 
utter  silence  had  settled  over  the  field  except  for 
the  officer's  commands.  Drops  of  blood  fell  from 
the  soldier's  cheek  on  Phil's  hands  as  he  applied 
the  first  aid  and  Henriette's  fingers  were  aim 
lessly  hovering  about  trying  to  assist. 

'  You  are  a  good  spirit,  Mademoiselle,"  said 
the  soldier,  happy  in  the  realisation  of  life  and 
the  cessation  of  the  shell-fire. 

"  Yes,  Henriette,"  Phil  added. 

"  I  will  go  on,"  said  the  soldier,  scrambling 
to  his  feet.  "  It  is  nothing." 

"But  are  you  strong  enough?  "  Phil  protested. 


i84  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  I  was  not  hit  in  the  legs.  A  little  farther 
along  the  road  I'll  get  on  a  wagon,"  he  said. 
"  And  you,  Monsieur,  you  and  the  ladies  run  to 
the  nearest  cellar.  That  one  has  fainted,  Mon 
sieur — and  thank  you  I  "  He  was  gone. 

Phil  turned  to  see  Helen  prostrate,  her  head 
on  her  portfolio.  But  she  recovered  herself  as 
he  started  toward  her,  looking  up  at  him  vaguely; 
then  with  a  surge  of  vitality  and  a  gesture  of  dis 
gust  she  sat  up. 

"  It  was  the  sight  of  blood,"  she  said.  "  I 
could  not  bear  that.  I'm  very  ashamed,  but 
quite  all  right,  now,"  she  concluded,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head  and  a  smile. 

"I  helped  dress  his  wound,  poor  fellow!" 
Henriette  murmured. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  RUN  FOR  IT 

PHIL  leapt  up  the  side  of  the  gully,  with  a 
view  to  finding  which  was  the  safest  and 
quickest  way  back  to  the  chateau.  The 
scene  before  him,  so  clear  in  its  meaning  even 
to  his  unknowing  civilian  eye,  held  his  attention 
for  the  instant  to  the  exclusion  of  his  object. 
Those  little  moving  spots  coming  over  a  hill  this 
side  of  the  town,  scattering  under  puffs  of  shrap 
nel,  must  be  the  French  rearguard;  and  the  shells 
from  the  battery  behind  the  woods  bursting  over 
the  hill  beyond  must  be  aimed  at  German  in 
fantry.  To  the  end  of  the  gully  and  then  sharp 
to  the  right  across  the  open  was  the  best  route  for 
the  chateau. 

u  And  for  us  it  is  double  quick,  before  we  get 
more  shells !  "  he  called  to  the  girls  as  he  dropped 
back  into  the  gully  and  gave  his  hand  to  Henri- 
ette  to  assist  her  to  rise.  Helen  was  already  on 
her  feet,  quite  herself  again. 

"As  they  say  in  America,  we  must  beat  it!  " 
she  exclaimed. 

So  they  ran  to  the  end  of  the  gully  and  then 
across  the  field.  The  German  guns  seemed  to 

185 


1 86  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

have  lost  interest  in  that  part  of  the  world.  They 
stopped  on  the  terrace  by  common  impulse,  so 
keen  is  curiosity  when  danger  seems  out  of  reach 
but  is  still  at  large  within  view;  the  girls  breath 
less  and  flushed  and  Phil  with  that  indescribable 
relief  of  a  man  who  has  been  under  fire  with 
women  and  sees  them  safely  out  of  it.  Of  course 
they  were  only  comparatively  safe.  They  were 
within  the  range  of  many  guns  and  at  any  minute 
that  a  German  commander  would  choose,  another 
tornado  would  break  over  their  heads. 

The  French  could  be  seen  still  more  distinctly 
now,  trickling  over  the  landscape  in  retreat,  in 
and  out  of  the  cover  of  valleys  and  woods,  with 
puffs  of  shrapnel  smoke  in  vicious  pursuit.  It 
all  seemed  like  some  game,  until  another  one  of 
those  hideous  screams  ended  in  a  crash  in  front 
of  the  woods  that  hid  the  French  battery.  The 
next  was  in  the  woods.  This  was  enough  to  tell 
the  battery  commander  that  his  hiding-place  was 
located.  In  a  race  with  death,  the  battery  horses 
galloped  up  and  away  went  the  guns,  with  the 
German  shells  smashing  the  emplacements  which 
had  just  been  vacated.  But  the  tenacious,  skilful 
gunners  did  not  go  far — only  behind  the  next 
ridge,  where  they  began  again  to  pour  death  into 
the  advancing  German  infantry. 

"  I  thought  so !  "  came  a  voice  breaking  in  upon 
the  little  group.  "  Nobody  is  so  foolhardy  as 
a  woman!  "  said  General  Rousseau,  shaking  his 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  187 

finger  at  Helen  and  Henriette.  "  When  I  heard 
that  you  were  staying  behind  I  came  at  once  to 
warn  you.  That  is  not  fireworks  out  there;  it's 
death.  Any  minute  it  may  be  turned  on  these 
woods  or  on  the  chateau.  Your  place  is  the  cellar, 
both  of  you,  till  this  is  over,  do  you  hear?"  he 
thundered,  "  or  I'll  take  my  stick  to  you !  "  He 
was  so  peremptory  that  Henriette  turned  to  go, 
but  Helen  hesitated. 

"  And  you,  too,  Mademoiselle !  "  he  com 
manded. 

"  Attention  !  About  face  !  March !  "  said 
Helen,  saluting  and  clicking  her  heels  together. 

"  Promise  me  you  will  not  go  wandering  about 
the  village  making  sketches  till  all  firing  is 
stopped !  " 

"  My  business  is  making  sketches,  not  making 
promises!  "  replied  Helen. 

"  You "  The  General  made  for  her 

threateningly  with  his  stick  and  she  ran  on  down 
the  path. 

"  This  was  her  doing,  sticking  on  here,  wasn't 
it? "  asked  the  General.  "  I've  known  her, 
Monsieur,  since  she  was  a  child,"  he  added 
thoughtfully. 

Professional  instinct  crowded  her  out  of  mind 
as  he  swept  the  field  with  '70  field  glasses  which 
were  slung  over  his  shoulder. 

"  No  rout — an  orderly  retreat !  "  he  said. 
"  We  are  not  beaten.  Joffre  having  failed  to 


1 88  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

bar  the  way  in  Belgium  is  going  to  fight  on  the 
Marne.  I  have  seen  our  corps  commander  and 
talked  to  him.  Oh,  it  was  very  fortunate  to  find 
that  I  knew  him.  He  was  one  of  my  lieutenants 
when  I  was  a  captain.  I'm  very  happy,  Mon 
sieur,  for  I  feel  that  I  still  serve — yes,  serve 
France !  " 

"  I  wish  I  could !  "  exclaimed  Phil.  "  It  hurts 
to  see  those  blue  coats  and  red  trousers  coming 
back;  but  I  don't  believe  they  will  go  far." 

"  Then  you  are  for  France  !  I  am  glad !  But 
only  a  Frenchman  can  know  how  a  Frenchman  is 
for  France !  " 

A  shrapnel  broke  over  the  woods,  its  bullets 
slittering  through  the  leaves. 

"  We  had  better  see  if  those  young  women 
have  gone  into  f^  cellar,"  said  the  General. 
Another  shrapnel  crashed  its  ugly  message  even 
nearer,  a  fragment  striking  at  his  feet.  "  Women 
are  the  very  devil  under  fire,"  he  added.  "  They 
will  never  take  cover.  A  soldier  considers  it 
duty.  Now  if  that  does  not  send  them  into  the 
cellar,"  he  continued,  as  a  heavy  reverberation 
came  from  the  direction  of  the  village,  "  they 
have  no  sense  at  all.  You  have  young  legs.  Run 
on  and  look  after  them." 

Phil  found  it  no  effort  to  run;  his  only  regret 
was  that  he  could  not  fly. 

"  Never  did  have  much  respect  for  shell- 
fire  !  "  mumbled  the  General.  "  I  hope  they  don't 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  189 

hit  my  pigeons.  I'd  better  go  home  and  look  after 
them." 

He  walked  on  at  a  dignified  pace,  while  the 
shells  continued  to  burst  over  the  woods  and  oc 
casional  high  explosives  in  the  village.  Phil  met 
him  at  the  door  of  the  house  and  reported : 

"  Your  orders  are  obeyed,  sir.  They  are  in 
the  cellar." 

"Excellent!" 

"  And  they  have  sent  orders  to  you.  You  are 
to  come  into  the  cellar,  too,  sir !  " 

"  I  must  look  after  my  pigeons.  I  never  had 

much  respect  for  shell-fire "  He  stopped 

short,  struck  by  a  thought.  "  If  I  were  hit  it 
would  be  just  as  serious  as  if  my  pigeons  were 
hit.  I " 

"Quite  so!"  put  in  Phil.  He  had  taken  a 
liking  to  the  General,  whom  war,  to  his  mind,  had 
transformed  from  a  gallant  old  fussbudget  of  a 
beau  to  a  brave  and  simple  gentleman. 

"  You  have  guessed  my  secret — the  secret  of 
my  pigeons?"  gasped  the  General  in  alarm. 

"  Have  I  ?  Yes,  I'm  afraid  I  have,  and  I " 

Something  caught  in  his  throat  as  he  looked  into 
the  piercing  grey  eyes  of  the  General.  "  I  hope 
you  know  that  the  secret  is  safe." 

"  I  do.  You  are  a  man  of  honour  and  you  have 
said  that  you  are  for  France.  And  the  only  way 
to  do  my  duty  to  France  is  to  keep  alive.  I  go 
into  the  cellar." 


190  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

As  they  passed  through  the  kitchen  a  pane  of 
glass  fell  with  a  tinkling  crash  as  a  shell-fragment 
hit  it  and  a  saucepan  rattled. 

"  Jacqueline  will  object  to  the  Germans  making 
omelets  in  her  kitchen,"  said  the  General.  "  No 
one  has  ever  appreciated  Madame  Ribot's  cellar 
more  than  myself,"  he  remarked  as  he  descended 
the  stairs.  "  Her  wines  are  excellent.  H-m, 
they  are  shelling  the  village  pretty  freely,  though 
we  have  no  troops  there — a  joke  on  the  Ger 
mans." 

"  But  the  people — what  of  them?  Are  they 
safe?  Will  they  know  enough  to  take  cover?" 
asked  Helen. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  General. 

"  It's  horrible  to  think  that  Mere  Perigord 
and  the  children  should  be  exposed  out  of  ig 
norance  !  "  Helen  sprang  past  the  General  and 
up  the  stairs. 

"  This  is  where  I  intervene !  "  said  Phil,  start 
ing  after  her. 

"  I  told  you  women  were  the  very  devil  under 
fire,"  murmured  the  General.  "  No  sense  of 
fear  like  men." 

"  And  why  not  I  ?  "    Henriette,  too,  was  going. 

But  the  General  stopped  the  way. 

"  No,  young  woman,"  he  said.  "  I'm  looking 
after  you  and  if  I  had  been  your  mother " 

"  You'd  have  spanked  me !  "  put  in  Henriette, 
making  a  charming  grimace  and  dropping  back 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  191 

into  her  seat  against  the  wine  bin.  "  Helen  will 
be  the  death  of  Cousin  Phil  yet,"  she  added. 
"  She's  in  an  awful  state  of  nerves." 

"  Seems  perfectly  normal,"  remarked  the  Gen 
eral.  "  I've  always  liked  Helen,"  he  added  tartly. 

When  Helen  and  Phil  came  out  into  the  village 
street  not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  The  little  com 
munity  of  peasants'  houses  with  its  old  church  was 
as  dead  as  Pompeii.  They  went  into  Mere  Peri- 
gord's  living-room  and  looked  into  the  bedroom 
without  finding  her.  When  Helen  called  down 
into  the  cellar  a  quavering  voice  answered: 

u  Of  course,  you  goose,  and  do  you  go  right 
back  to  your  own  cellar  or  come  down  here. 
What  do  you  think  we  are — fools?  Why,  one 
goes  to  a  cellar  as  naturally  as  one  puts  up  an 
umbrella  in  a  rain!  " 

The  shelling  had  stopped  when  Helen  and  Phil 
reached  the  street  again.  Soon  faces  began  to  ap 
pear  in  the  doorways  and  the  village  came  to  life. 

"  It  reminds  me  of  prairie  dogs  ducking  for, 
their  burrows,"  said  Phil.  "  I  ought  to  explain 
that " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  prairie  dogs  are,"  replied 
Helen.  "  But,  seriously,  there  is  a  question  I 
want  to  ask."  She  was  smiling  faintly,  but  her 
eyes  had  a  defiant  spark.  "  Are  you  going  to 
follow  me  wherever  I  go?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  in  danger." 


192  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Is  that  fair?  "  she  demanded. 

"  It's  cousinly,"  he  replied. 

"  But  what  if  Henriette  and  I  go  in  different 
directions?"  she  continued  methodically. 

"  In  that  case,  I  see  that  you  prefer  that  I 
go  with  Henriette.  I — I  think  you  know  better 
how  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

She  flushed  and  looked  down.  It  had  not  oc 
curred  to  her  whither  the  questions  were  lead 
ing. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I  shall  follow  her,  unless  she  remains 
in  the  cellar.  In  that  case  I'll  follow  you." 

"  Very  well,"  she  assented,  with  a  shrug;  and 
looking  up  again:  "I'm  ashamed  of  myself  for 
fainting  this  afternoon.  It  was  the  sight  of 
blood.  I  haven't  thought  of  that.  It  makes  me 
afraid,  and  war  means  that,  and  I  had  wanted  to 
see  war." 

They  met  the  General  coming  out  of  the 
chateau,  and  Phil  noted  again  how  straight  he 
was  and  how  confident  and  happy.  It  was  a 
picture  of  the  old  warrior  which  he  was  ever  to 
remember.  Indoors  they  found  Jacqueline,  now 
that  the  shell-fire  had  ceased,  busy  preparing 
dejeuner,  while  she  abused  the  Germans  for  hav 
ing  dented  a  saucepan.  War  or  no  war,  people 
must  eat.  Her  business  was  to  cook  and  she 
went  about  her  business,  French  fashion.  The 
result  of  being  up  all  night  and  under  fire,  as 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  193 

the  General  or  any  other  old  campaigner  could 
have  told  them,  was  that  the  three  cousins  were 
ravenously  hungry.  They  had  a  surprising  sense 
of  security,  though  guns  and  rifle-fire  could  be 
heard  around  them.  In  a  few  hours  they  had 
become  habituated  to  war. 

Helen  was  silent,  thinking  in  pictures,  the  mul 
titude  of  pictures  that  she  had  seen  that  morning. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  enough  material 
to  keep  her  drawing  for  a  lifetime. 

'  That  black  hole  is  the  place  where  we  sat  be 
side  the  road,"  said  Henriette,  looking  across  to 
Phil  with  a  grateful  smile.  Then  she  referred  to 
the  scene  in  the  gully  and  spoke  of  how  brave  and 
cheery  the  wounded  soldier  had  been,  even  as 
blood  was  dropping  from  his  cheeks. 

"  Don't!  "  exclaimed  Helen,  with  a  shudder. 

"Sorry,  dear!"  said  Henriette,  and  changed 
the  subject. 

After  exhaustion  and  hunger,  food;  and  after 
food  nature,  even  within  sound  of  the  guns,  will 
assert  itself  on  an  August  day.  If  one  of  the 
shells  bursting  half  a  mile  away  had  burst  in  the 
garden,  then  nature  would  have  yielded  to  nervous 
excitement,  which  may  manifest  itself  in  outward 
calm  or  in  chattering  teeth.  In  either  instance, 
the  strain  is  there. 

"  I  confess  to  feeling  sleepy,"  said  Henriette, 
nodding,  her  long  lashes  drooping  after  the  meal. 

"And  you,  Helen?" 


194  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Perhaps.    I'd  like  to  try." 

"  Then  do  try,  both  of  you,"  said  Phil. 
"  There's  no  telling  how  much  we  shall  be  kept 
awake  when  the  Germans  come.  And  I  am  going 
to  exact  a  promise  from  you,"  he  added,  as  they 
rose  from  the  table,  "  that  you  do  not  leave  the 
house  or  run  any  further  risk  to-day." 

"And  you?"  the  girls  exclaimed  together. 
There  was  something  more  than  the  usual  start  of 
surprise  on  the  part  of  both  when  two  people 
find  that  they  have  the  same  thought  and  have 
given  utterance  to  it.  Helen  slipped  out  of  the 
room,  leaving  the  scene  to  Henriette. 

'  There  is  no  dodging  those  big  shells,"  she 
said,  "  so  you  must  agree  to  take  care,  too.  You 
see,"  she  lowered  her  lashes  thoughtfully  and 
then  looked  up  at  him  with  a  world  of  frank 
solicitude,  "  as  you  saved  my  life  I  feel  an  interest 
in  yours." 

"  Not  to  mention  that  I  have  an  interest  in 
yours !  "  he  interjected. 

"  I'm  glad  if  you  feel  that  way,"  she  said;  then 
added,  as  he  bent  toward  her,  under  the  spell  of 
her  beauty,  "  I  promise  !  You  promise  !  "  She 
gave  him  her  hand  in  sealing  the  bargain,  but 
drew  it  away  before  his  closed  too  tightly  and 
smiled  over  her  shoulder,  saying,  "  I'm  really 
sleepy,"  as  she  withdrew. 

Phil  was  left  with  this  vision  of  her  to  compare 
with  that  of  her  as  she  rested  in  his  arms  while 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  195 

he  carried  her  from  the  roadside  to  the  gully. 
Then  he  marvelled  once  more  at  the  situation. 
How  long  should  he  be  here  with  these  two 
cousins?  What  was  going  on  out  there  amidst 
the  sound  of  the  guns?  With  all  the  world 
around  in  action,  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  remain 
still. 

"  Jacqueline,  if  any  more  shells  come,"  he  said, 
putting  his  head  in  at  the  kitchen  door,  "  will  you 
see  that  those  two  girls  go  into  the  cellar  and 
stay?" 

"  I'll  take  a  saucepan  to  them  if  they  don't!  " 
Jacqueline  replied.  "  As  for  you,  I  suppose  you 
are  going  out  to  try  to  be  killed,  like  all  the  other 
foolish  men  in  the  world,"  she  added,  without 
any  effort  to  restrain  him. 

On  reaching  the  terrace  Phil  found  himself  with 
the  last  line  of  the  French.  In  wait  as  for  game, 
dust-laden  figures  were  lying  behind  trees  and  in 
the  open  behind  little  banks  of  earth  which  they 
had  spaded.  They  were  firing  and  the  rattle  of 
rifles  and  the  penetrating  rat-tat  of  a  French 
machine-gun  from  the  woods  at  the  other  side  of 
the  village  joined  in  the  refrain.  A  thousand 
yards  away  he  saw  something  as  green  as  the 
fields,  but  visible  on  the  grey  ribbon  of  the  road, 
melt  into  the  earth  under  this  burst  of  bullets. 
These  must  be  the  Germans.  Sharp  whistles 
and  cracks  about  his  ears — the  answer  from  the 
rifles  of  the  German  skirmish  line — made  him 


196  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

leap  to  the  cover  of  the  largest  tree-trunk  in 
sight. 

"We  forced  them  to  deploy!"  he  heard  an 
officer  say. 

Then  commands  were  given  and  the  French 
men  slipped  backward  on  all  fours  till  they  were 
below  the  skyline,  when  they  became  running 
red  legs  under  humped  backs  of  blue  as  they 
hurried  away  according  to  plan — and  just  in  time. 
For  now  the  German  guns,  which  had  the  signal, 
loosed  their  wrath  on  the  village  and  the  neigh 
bouring  woodland,  where  it  was  thought  that  the 
French  infantry  meant  to  make  a  stand  in  force. 
Phil  stuck  to  his  tree-trunk.  But  it  did  not  seem  of 
much  use  when  he  saw  another  tree  cut  in  half 
as  by  a  lumberman's  axe  with  a  curling  black 
burst  of  smoke;  and  bark  and  limbs  m  all  direc 
tions  were  being  gashed  by  shell-fragments  and 
shrapnel  bullets. 

Were  the  girls  in  the  cellar?  He  had  a  sense 
of  deserting  his  post  of  duty.  He  did  not  care 
to  make  the  run  to  the  house,  but  felt  that  he 
must;  when  his  honest  desire  was  to  drop  into 
the  centre  of  the  earth  and  close  an  armoured  door 
behind  him.  So  he  started,  having  in  mind  that 
he  had  been  second  in  the  hundred-yard  dash  at 
college,  but  might  have  been  first  if  he  had  had 
the  incentive  of  the  present  moment. 

There  seemed  an  end  of  the  outburst — prob 
ably  an  airman  had  signalled  that  the  French 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  197 

were  out  of  the  woods — when  one  belated,  har 
rowing  scream  seemed  to  have  the  pit  of  his 
stomach  as  a  target  just  as  he  saw  the  white  of  a 
woman's  gown,  the  wearer's  face  hidden  by  a 
branch.  Then  the  crash  came  in  front  of  him. 
Black  smoke  and  a  fountain  of  earth  and  shivered 
tree-roots  hid  the  approaching  figure  and  en 
veloped  it,  for  it  was  nearer  to  the  burst  than  he. 
Stunned,  half  thrown  off  his  feet,  as  he  regained 
them  and  realised  that  he  was  alive  it  was  with 
the  dagger  thrust  of  horrible  foreboding. 

The  thing  which  he  might  have  prevented  must 
have  happened.  He  rushed  into  the  smoke, 
stumbled  into  the  shell-crater  and  clambered 
wildly  out  of  it,  to  see  Helen  rising  unhurt  and 
shaking  the  fresh,  moist  loam  and  splinters  from 
her  gown.  Her  hair  had  been  blown  almost  free 
of  its  fastenings  by  the  blast.  She  threw  back 
her  head  at  sight  of  him,  her  startled  eyes  glow 
ing  with  the  wonder  of  her  escape  and  the  supple 
figure  drawn  up  as  if  testing  the  unscathed  ex 
istence  of  muscle  and  nerve.  She  might  be  un 
nerved  at  the  sight  of  blood,  but  she  was  not 
afraid  of  shells. 

'Thank  heaven!"  gasped  Phil,  and  admir 
ingly.  "  But  what  are  you  doing  here?  "  he  de 
manded,  in  the  reaction  of  anger  over  her  folly. 
'  You — I  came  to  see  what  you  were  doing 
— yes,  what  you  were  doing  here !  "  she  said, 
between  deep  breaths.  "  Why  not?  "  She  broke 


198  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

into  laughter,  that  of  the  challenge  across  the 
table  at  Truckleford,  that  of  even  a  more  reck 
less  humour. 

"And  your  promise  to  stay  in?"  he  asked. 

" I   made   none !  " 

"And  Henriette?" 

"  In  the  cellar." 

"Thank  heaven!  But  why  are  we  talking 
here?  "  he  added. 

"  Yes,  why?  "  she  said,  turning  to  go. 

Shells  were  still  screaming  far  over  the  tree- 
tops. 

"  I  think  we  are  safe  enough,  for  the  German 
guns  are  firing  over  our  heads  at  the  French  in 
fantry,"  he  said.  "  We  are  between  the  lines." 

Helen  said  nothing,  but  walked  on  rapidly. 

"  We  were  very  lucky,"  he  continued.  "  I  had 
a  glimpse  of  you  before  the  burst.  It  was  an 
awful  moment  of  suspense." 

"  If  we  had  been  a  few  yards  further  along 
or  had  started  a  few  seconds  sooner — how 
simple !  "  she  added.  "  I  mean,  some  more 
people  would  have  been  killed  in  this  war — I 
mean — well,  here  we  are !  "  and  she  looked  up, 
smiling. 

"  None  came  near  the  house?  "  he  asked. 

"  One  burst  outside  the  dining-room  just  as  I 
was  leaving,"  she  answered,  "  but  it  couldn't  have 
hurt  anybody  in  the  cellar.  You  see  the  house 
is  quite  intact,"  she  added,  as  they  came  in  sight 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  199 

of  it.  "  I'm  sure  that  Henrietta  is  safe — and  I 
must  add  another  cartoon  to  the  history  of  the 
surviving  Sanford,  how  he  dodged  the  shells!  " 

She  gave  him  a  full  look  this  time  which  was 
all  mischief.  How  could  any  woman  be  so  cool 
after  such  a  shock?  But  women  can  be  cool  even 
when  their  underlips  are  trembling,  as  Helen's 
was.  In  danger  or  out  of  danger,  they  keep  to 
their  parts.  Phil  could  only  feel  that  he  had  two 
wonderful  cousins  and  that  it  was  useless  to 
speculate  about  anybody  or  anything.  Splinters 
from  the  branches  slashed  by  shells  still  clung 
to  Helen's  hair;  they  were  a  kind  of  crown  of 
glory  for  her. 

"  Now  for  Henriette !  "  he  said  as  they  entered 
the  house. 

A  moaning  sob  from  below  ceased  when  he 
called,  and  the  answer  came  back,  "All  right!  " 
an  answer  that  was  thick  but  genuine  in  its  relief. 
Henriette  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the  cellar  stairs 
trembling. 

"  It  was  awful  being  here  alone !  "  she  said 
convulsively.  "  One  does  like  company.  Do  you 
think  it's  all  over?  And  I  was  worried  about 
Helen  when  that  one  burst  so  close  and  shook  the 
whole  house." 

"  Helen  had  a  close  call,  but  here  she  is," 
said  Phil. 

Jacqueline  was  in  the  dining-room.  The 
wreckage  of  doors  blown  from  their  hinges  by 


200  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

the  explosion  she  had  piled  against  the  walls 
and  was  now  engaged  in  sweeping  up  the  earth 
and  plaster. 

"  This  is  what  a  woman  has  to  do  when  men 
go  away  to  make  war  instead  of  staying  at  home 
and  getting  in  the  harvest !  "  she  grumbled. 
"  Nice  mess  they  have  made.  So  there  you  are, 
you  foolish  girls !  I  have  about  lost  patience  with 
you  both.  As  I  told  Mademoiselle  Henriette 
when  she  was  moaning  so,  she  might  have  been 
in  Paris  if  she  hadn't " 

"  I  was  not  moaning!  "  said  Henriette  sharply. 

"  No,  ma  chere,  you  were  not.  Thank  God, 
you  are  alive  !  Though  I  don't  know  but  we'd  all 
be  better  dead  than  having  our  homes  beaten 
down  about  our  ears.  Look  at  that!  "  as  the 
broom  disclosed  a  gash  in  the  oak  from  a  shell- 
fragment.  "  This  floor  I've  been  polishing  for 
years.  And  you,"  she  turned  on  Phil,  "  I  thought 
that  you  were  going  to  look  after  these  young 
ladies  and  keep  them  from  showing  off !  But 
like  all  men  you  had  to  go  out  and  make  war  and 
show  how  brave  you  were." 

"  I  give  my  word,"  said  Phil,  "  that  they  will 
not  escape  again.  If  necessary  I'll  arm  myself 
with  one  of  your  saucepans." 

"  The  one  that  the  Germans  dented,  if  you 
wish,"  she  replied.  "  I  can't  spare  another." 

"  And  the  Germans  will  be  here  very  soon," 
Phil  added,  to  see  what  the  effect  would  be. 


A  RUN  FOR  IT  201 

"  It's  time.  They've  sent  enough  calling 
cards!  "  replied  Jacqueline.  "The  dirty,  worth 
less,  murderous,  savage  beasts,  eating,  swilling, 
killing  other  women's  boys  and  destroying  other 
people's  property!  Now,  if  you  don't  bother  me 
it's  likely  that  you  will  get  a  better  dinner  after 
I've  cleaned  up." 

Advisedly  they  withdrew  into  the  sitting-room, 
where  Phil  became  a  Roman  sentinel  on  guard. 
Soon  they  had  glimpses  of  green  figures  with 
cloth-covered  helmets  working  their  way  through 
the  grounds  and  along  the  village  streets.  But 
the  figures  seemed  to  be  too  busy  to  pay  any 
attention  to  the  house.  Then  shells  began  to 
break  over  the  village  and  grounds  again,  French 
shells  into  the  advancing  German  infantry,  which 
once  more  sent  the  cousins  to  the  cellar.  When 
they  returned  upstairs  Jacqueline  met  them,  highly 
excited. 

"  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  couldn't  keep  indoors  when  our  shells  were 
coming.  Yes,  I  saw  one  burst  right  in  among 
the  beasts  and  knock  a  lot  of  them  over!  Three 
never  will  get  up  again  and  they  carried  the  others 
away,  back  to  the  Kaiser!  " 

Put  a  red  cap  on  Jacqueline,  and  with  the  flash 
ing  of  her  black  eyes  she  would  have  needed  no 
further  make-up  for  the  storming  of  the  Bastille. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

A   CHOICE   OF  BILLETS 

WITH  the  French  guns  withdrawn  from 
range,  nothing  interfered  with  the  re 
morselessly  steady  tramp  of  the  column 
of  infantry  passing  the  gate;  and  out  on '  the 
main  road  an  unending  stream  of  men,  guns,  and 
transport  flowed,  eyes  on  the  goal  of  Paris.  The 
chateau  and  its  grounds  were  an  island  in  the 
green  advancing  tide  planning  to  overflow  the 
world. 

The  three  had  little  appetite  for  dinner,  which 
Jacqueline  prepared  earlier  than  usual.  They 
had  finished  when  one  of  the  green  units  de 
tached  itself  from  the  procession  of  armed  power. 

"  We  billet  here  to-night,"  he  said  in  French 
to  Phil,  who  met  him  at  the  door.  "  How  many 
of  you  are  there?  Three?  Keep  to  your  bed 
rooms  and  leave  the  rest  of  the  house  to  us. 
And  you,  are  you  English?" 

"  No,  American." 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"  I  am  here  with  my  cousins,"  he  answered. 
"  We  managed  to  get  their  mother  away  to 
Paris." 

202 


A  CHOICE  OF  BILLETS  203 

"  Keep  to  your  rooms!  "  was  the  warning. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  dozen  dusty  officers  with 
baggage  and  orderlies  arrived.  Their  guttural 
voices  seemed  to  fill  the  rooms.  When  they 
wanted  to  occupy  the  kitchen  Jacqueline  was  in 
clined  to  show  fight,  but  Phil  dissuaded  her  and 
after  her  first  temperamental  outburst  she 
yielded  to  Csesar  and  put  her  saucepans  at  the 
service  of  Caesar's  minions,  who  were  already 
rummaging  among  the  preserves  and  the  wines. 
It  was  war,  a  matter  of  course.  Jacqueline  being 
bred  of  a  military  race  accommodated  herself 
to  the  fact,  with  a  deadly  hate  in  her  heart. 

By  the  wish  of  the  two  girls,  who  plainly  pre 
ferred  not  to  be  alone,  they  all  made  Henriette's 
bedroom  a  sitting-room.  There  they  sat,  listen 
ing  to  the  heavy  footsteps  below,  the  loud  talk 
with  references  to  Paris,  the  clinking  of  glasses 
and  toasts  of  exultant  militarism.  Phil's  anger 
was  hard  to  control.  He  was  not  of  a  military 
race.  These  men  were  highwaymen  and  burglars 
to  him,  outraging  a  home. 

A  brigadier-general  slept  in  Madame  Ribot's 
room;  captains  had  the  sofas  and  lieutenants  the 
floor.  Not  until  there  was  silence  below  did  the 
three  separate.  Before  dawn  they  were  aroused 
by  the  harsh  gutturals  and  the  noise  of  packing 
and  hurried  breakfasts,  before  the  officers  again 
took  their  places  with  their  commands  and  the 
green  river  moved  on  after  the  few  hours'  rest 


204  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

which  even  German  discipline  had  to  concede  to 
the  limitations  of  the  human  machine.  Half- 
empty  preserve  jars  and  wine  bottles  were  on  the 
tables  and  sausage  grease  had  been  ground  into 
the  floors.  In  the  littered  kitchen  industrious 
Jacqueline  had  already  begun  putting  things  to 
rights  and  in  due  course  prepared  the  morning 
coffee  as  usual. 

"  I  feel  as  if  the  house  had  been  tainted!  "  she 
said. 

"  They  have  taken  what  they  wanted,"  said 
the  cure,  who  came  to  tell  them  that  the  mayor 
was  made  hostage  for  the  good  behaviour  of  the 
villagers,  which  meant  that  all  must  remain  in 
doors.  "I  fear,  I  fear!"  he  said,  as  he  went 
away.  "  They  are  very  strong,  these  bar 
barians!  " 

At  breakfast  the  cousins  spoke  only  in  mono 
syllables.  A  pall  was  over  their  thoughts.  They 
could  hear  the  steady  tramp  of  men  or  the  creak 
of  gun-carriages  and  caissons  passing,  like  a  march 
of  fate  that  would  never  end.  Something  was 
gone  from  their  hearts  and  minds,  from  the  house, 
the  garden,  the  air,  the  world — which  was  still 
with  them  as  long  as  a  French  soldier  stood  be 
tween  them  and  the  enemy.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  stay  indoors.  The  chateau  and  its 
grounds  became  a  prison. 

Helen  took  a  chair  out  behind  a  bush  by  the 
gate,  where  she  could  look  through  an  opening, 


A  CHOICE  OF  BILLETS  205 

and  began  sketching.  Henriette  tried  to  read 
a  novel.  Phil  walked  in  the  grounds.  What  were 
the  old  father  and  mother  in  Longfield  thinking 
had  become  of  him?  How  long  should  he  be 
here?  He  had  turned  to  go  into  the  house  when 
steps  on  the  walk,  with  the  jingle  of  spurs,  ar 
rested  him  and  he  looked  around  to  see  a  young 
officer  of  distinctly  Prussian  pattern  approaching. 

Lieutenant  von  Eichborn,  aide  to  Lieutenant- 
General  von  Stein,  division  commander,  was  prob 
ably  four  and  twenty.  From  the  peak  of  his 
helmet  to  his  spurs  he  thought  well  of  himself  and 
poorly  of  everybody  else  in  the  world  who  was 
not  Prussian  and  of  his  caste.  This  person  in 
front  of  him  was  a  civilian.  Since  August  first 
civilians  had  been  of  no  account  on  the  continent 
of  Europe.  Besides,  it  was  a  nuisance  to  have  the 
owner  of  a  chateau  about. 

"  Do  you  live  here?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  for  the  present,"  Phil  replied. 

"  English?  "  von  Eichborn  shot  at  him  and  in 
English. 

"American!  "  Phil  politely  gave  monosyllable 
for  monosyllable.  He  did  not  like  von  Eichborn. 

"  I  am  going  to  look  over  the  chateau  with  a 
view  to  making  it  staff  headquarters,"  said  von 
Eichborn,  starting  toward  the  door  past  Phil. 

"  Evidently,"  said  Phil. 

Von  Eichborn  wheeled  on  him. 

"  Take  care!  "  he  said.    "  I  am  an  officer." 


2o6  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  I  judged  that  you  were,"  Phil  replied,  with 
studied  politeness. 

Von  Eichborn  stared,  frowned.  Phil  neither 
stared  nor  frowned;  he  smiled. 

"  What  else  am  I  to  say?  "  he  added.  "  I  am 
not  used  to  military  customs." 

Von  Eichborn  strolled  on  into  the  hall. 

"  Pleasant  place.  I  think  it  will  do — the  best  in 
this  neighbourhood,  anyway.  But  I'll  go  through 
it." 

Henriette  rose  from  her  chair  as  he  entered 
the  sitting-room  and  the  aide  of  General  von 
Stein  who  thought  so  well  of  himself,  startled, 
put  up  his  eye-glass,  dropped  it,  and  made  a  low 
bow. 

'  The  chateau  belongs  to  Mademoiselle 
Ribot's  mother,"  Phil  explained. 

"  Most  charming  place,  most  charming!  "  said 
von  Eichborn,  speaking  French  now,  while  he 
was  looking  into  Henriette's  eyes  and  smiling. 

''  We  think  so,"  Henriette  replied,  and  she 
smiled,  partly  in  response  to  his  admiration,  per 
haps,  as  well  as  for  policy's  sake. 

"  Madame,  your  mother  is  not  here?  " 

"  No.  She  succeeded  in  getting  away  on  the 
last  train  to  Paris." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  see  her  there,"  von  Eichborn 
remarked. 

"  You  are  quite  sure?  "  Henriette  flashed. 

Her  spirit  seemed  to  please  him;  at  least,  he 


A  CHOICE  OF  BILLETS  207 

smiled  again.  A  straight,  fine  figure  of  militarism 
he  made,  his  head  inclined  toward  her;  but  the 
thickish  lips,  the  rather  outstanding  ears  with 
heavy  lobes,  and  the  straight  line  from  neck  to 
crown  marked  him  as  a  brute. 

'Then  you  are  quite  alone  here?"  he  con 
tinued. 

"  My  sister  and  Cousin  Phil  are  here." 

"  Oh!  "     He  glanced  back  at  Phil  casually. 

"  I  hope  that  we  may  be  disturbed  as  little  as 
possible,"  she  ventured. 

'  We  are  not  such  barbarians  as  you  think," 
he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  do 
not  see  why  you  should  be  disturbed  at  all.  There 
is  another  chateau  on  the  list  which  belongs  to 
the  Count  de  la  Grange,  and  as  I  have  the  say 
for  my  uncle,  the  General,  I  do  not  see  why  that 
will  not  serve  as  well." 

'Yes,  the  Count  is  away!  "  put  in  Henriette 
quickly.  '  Thank  you  very  much !  "  This  with  a 
gracious  smile  as  a  livelier  expression  of  her 
acknowledgment  of  his  courtesy. 

"  Done !  "  he  answered  promptly,  smiling  back 
at  her.  "  I  shall  see  that  you  are  quite  undis 
turbed,  I  promise  you,  unless  some  one  has  to 
billet  here.  We  may  be  crowded  and  may  be 
here  some  time  if  your  scepticism  about  our  tak 
ing  of  Paris  is  well-grounded."  He  made  the 
bdw  of  a  Berlin  salon,  his  heels  clicking  together, 
as  he  withdrew. 


208  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Phil  went  into  the  grounds  with  him. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  he  managed  to  say. 

"Don't  mention  it!"  replied  von  Eichborn. 
"  A  very  charming  cousin.  She  speaks  French 
like  a  Frenchwoman  and  looks  like  one.  And 
you  are  an  American?" 

"  A  distant  cousin;  "  and  Phil  tried  to  explain 
a  situation  whose  awkwardness  von  Eichborn  only 
emphasised  the  more  by  one  or  two  subtle  re 
marks.  Phil  bit  his  lip  and  reminded  himself  that 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  Prussian  force. 

"  A  peculiar  position  for  an  American,"  von 
Eichborn  observed.  "  I  hope  your  papers  are 
all  right." 

"Quite!" 

"  That  is  fortunate.  You  may  be  interrogated. 
The  secret  service  is  very  watchful,  you  know. 
Good-morning!  " 

Phil  watched  the  ramrod  form  to  the  tune  of 
the  jingling  spurs  disappear  past  the  gate-post. 
He  was  disgusted  and  thoughtful. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  here  with  us," 
said  Henriette  soberly,  when  he  returned  to  the 
house.  She,  too,  had  been  thinking. 


CHAPTER  XX 

UNDER    ARREST 

A  I  hour  later  a  Prussian  sergeant  and  two 
privates  marched  into  the  grounds.  The 
sergeant  mounted  the  steps  and  having 
rung  the  bell  proceeded  to  hammer  on  the  door. 
Phil  answered  the  call,  and  was  not  long  in 
realising  that  he  was  under  arrest.  The  sergeant 
could  not  say  why,  such  details  not  being  in  his 
orbit  of  duty.  His  orders  were  to  bring  one 
young  man  from  the  chateau  to  headquarters. 
The  only  thing  for  Phil  was  to  take  the  situation 
philosophically. 

"  I  never  did  like  melodrama,"  he  said,  as  he 
stood  by  the  steps  under  the  guard  of  the  two 
privates,  while  the  sergeant  was  searching  his 
room  for  incriminating  evidence. 

"  Don't!  "  pleaded  the  girls  together.  "  Don't 
joke  about  it!  " 

"  And  answer  all  their  questions  politely," 
added  Helen.  "  If  we  don't  hear  anything  by 
to-night  we'll  come  to  headquarters  or  get  the 
cure  to  go  there." 

"I'll  be  as  polite  as  pie,"  said  Phil.  "And 
don't  you  be  too  serious  about  it,"  he  added  warn- 

209 


zio  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

ingly,  in  turn.  "  When  I  show  my  papers  to 
some  one  in  authority  I'll  be  all  right." 

"  It  was  I  who  got  you  into  this!  "  Helen  ex 
claimed,  beset  by  a  new  thought.  "  If  I  hadn't 
stayed " 

Perhaps  a  better  "  if  "  would  have  referred  to 
Henriette's  beauty. 

"  Nonsense  !     It's  all  a  mistake  !  "   said  Phil. 

"  Plot  complete !  "  he  added,  as  the  sergeant 
appeared  with  the  letters  and  papers  that  he  had 
found  in  Phil's  room  carefully  tied  up  and  an 
nounced,  with  barrack-room  gruffness  that  it  was 
time  to  march. 

Phil  could  only  smile  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
was  faced  about  under  the  escort  of  the  two 
privates.  From  Helen  he  had  an  encouraging 
smile  in  response;  from  Henriette  a  look  of  fright 
and  appeal.  Inwardly  he  was  boiling.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  he  or  any  Sanford  for  many  genera 
tions  had  known  the  loss  of  liberty  for  five  min 
utes.  This  callous  old  sergeant,  these  two  men 
with  fixed  bayonets  walking  on  either  side  of 
Phil,  had  no  business  in  France.  They  were  in 
vaders. 

On  through  the  village  street  beside  the  gorge 
of  transport  he  was  conducted,  then  down  the 
long  avenue  of  trees  to  Count  de  la  Grange's 
chateau.  There  he  was  halted  and  every  scrap 
of  paper  in  his  pockets  removed.  He  stood 
for  a  time,  while  officers  and  messengers  passed 


UNDER  ARREST  211 

up  and  down  the  steps,  before  he  was  taken 
indoors. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  hall,  its  ceiling  cracked 
and  yellow  from  the  neglect  of  impoverished 
nobility,  its  walls  hung  with  family  portraits,  sat 
General  Rousseau  under  guard,  his  aquiline  nose 
and  finely-moulded  chin  in  bold  relief.  As  Phil 
was  directed  along  the  hall,  the  sound  of  his 
steps  on  the  marble  flooring  drew  the  General's 
attention.  The  glances  of  the  two  met.  Phil 
was  about  to  speak,  when  his  impulse  was  stayed 
by  the  fact  that  he  was  looking  at  a  profile  which 
seemed  oblivious  of  his  presence. 

"  He  is  in  trouble  and  does  not  want  to  recog 
nise  me  lest  he  get  me  in  trouble,"  Phil  thought, 
"  or  I  might  get  him  into  deeper  trouble." 

The  General  sat  stiffly  erect,  a  space  between 
his  coat  back  and  the  chair  back,  something  dis 
tinguished  and  calm  in  his  manner,  with  a  smiling 
turn  to  his  lips  which  completed  an  air  of  quiet 
triumph  unaffected  by  his  surroundings.  Directly 
an  officer  came  out  from  one  of  the  rooms  and 
motioned  to  the  General  to  enter  the  open  door 
in  front  of  him.  Phil  was  then  moved  up  to  the 
seat  thus  vacated,  whence  he  could  look  into  the 
salon,  with  its  long  French  windows  open  on  the 
garden.  Before  a  table  sat  a  German  general 
of  fifty-five  or  so,  his  bullet  head  close-cropped 
and  his  profile  as  set  as  if  it  were  carved  out  of 
stone.  On  the  wall  at  his  back  was  a  large  map 


212  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

with  blue  pencil  markings.  In  front  of  him  stood 
old  Rousseau,  head  up,  his  lips  still  having  the 
turn  of  a  faint  smile. 

Division  Commander  von  Stein  was  reading 
from  a  paper,  which  stated  that  the  General  had 
given  information  to  the  enemy  by  means  of 
carrier  pigeons. 

"What  have  you  to  say?"  demanded  von 
Stein. 

"  That  I  am  not  a  lawyer;  but,  speaking  as  a 
soldier,"  replied  General  Rousseau  in  an  even 
voice,  "  I  am  happy  to  say  that  my  last  pigeon 
went  before  you  could  intercept  it." 

"  As  a  soldier  you  knew  what  to  report,"  said 
von  Stein  rather  affably.  "  It  was  clever  of  you 
and  you  must  have  sent  some  valuable  informa 
tion." 

If  he  could  learn  the  nature  of  the  informa 
tion  it  might  enable  him  to  counteract  some  of  its 
results;  but  General  Rousseau's  smile  broadened  a 
little  at  this  obvious  bait  of  flattery. 

"  I'm  even  a  good  enough  soldier  not 
to  tell  you  that,"  he  replied.  "  Perhaps  your 
soldiers  are  learning  this  moment,"  he  added 
proudly. 

"  As  you  have  confessed "  von  Stein 

rapped  out  in  irritation. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  General  calmly,  almost 
sweetly. 

"  You  know  the  penalty?  " 


UNDER  ARREST  213 

"  Yes.  I  expected  it.  I  found  a  way  to  serve 
France  and  I  am  ready." 

Without  waiting  on  further  instructions,  clos 
ing  the  interview  himself  with  a  certain  disdain 
ful  impatience,  he  saluted  and  turned  toward  his 
guard.  The  full  light  through  the  large  windows 
limned  his  fine,  aristocratic  profile  and  his  gaunt, 
tall  form.  He  was  victorious  in  that  moment  and 
a  gentleman;  and  the  man  in  the  chair,  conscious 
of  some  quality  in  the  Frenchman  lacking  in  him 
self  but  admiring  as  soldier  to  soldier,  exclaimed, 
"  It  is  war!  "  and  rose  to  his  feet,  saluting  the 
man  whom  he  had  condemned,  in  turn. 

Phil  had  the  call  to  disregard  his  own  position 
and  rush  to  General  Rousseau's  side  in  his  tribute 
of  admiration.  It  seemed  horrible  at  first  thought 
to  see  that  gallant  veteran  go  to  his  death  without 
a  friendly  word.  But  two  girls  were  waiting  at 
the  chateau  for  Phil's  return.  He  imagined  that 
the  General  preferred  to  be  alone.  Nothing  could 
equal  the  knowledge  of  his  deed  for  France  in 
comforting  him.  Still  disdainful  of  the  Prus 
sian,  lips  still  turned  in  a  smile,  he  was  marched 
out  into  the  grounds — which  is  the  full  explana 
tion  of  why  Madame  Ribot  had  only  the  Count 
for  an  escort  to  Paris. 

Since  an  old  man  had  been  caught  releasing 
pigeons  which  carried  information  to  the  French 
as  to  the  location  of  three  divisions  of  German 
troops  and  might  cost  the  Germans  five  thousand 


2i4  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

men,  von  Stein  was  taking  a  hand  in  the  espion 
age  problem  himself.  Phil  was  summoned  and, 
standing  on  the  same  spot  where  General  Rous 
seau  had  stood,  he  saw  all  his  letters  and  his 
diary  lying  on  the  Commander's  table.  Two 
officers  were  standing  on  either  side  of  him.  One 
of  them  went  out  after  the  Commander  had 
signed  some  papers,  and  through  the  open  door 
Phil  had  a  glimpse  through  other  open  doors  of 
rooms  with  walls  hung  with  maps  and  of  tele 
graph  instruments  and  officers  \vriting  and  con 
ferring.  Here  was  the  inner  circle  of  a  division 
command  directing  all  the  action  of  guns  and 
men  which  he  had  seen  from  the  terrace  at  Mer- 
vaux,  with  office  routine  in  a  secluded  chateau ; 
while  von  Stein,  the  man  with  the  responsibility 
of  decisions,  sat  aloof  in  the  salon. 

The  remaining  officer,  a  major,  evidently  had 
something  to  do  with  Phil's  case.  Phil  recalled 
Helen's  advice :  Answer  all  their  questions 
politely.  This  he  would  do;  and,  with  the  ex 
ample  of  General  Rousseau  as  an  inspiration,  he 
waited  for  the  first  move.  Von  Stein  looked  up 
slowly,  raising  his  bushy  eyebrows  to  see  what 
sort  of  dirt  this  was  in  front  of  him,  and  then 
regarded  Phil  with  a  sweeping  glance  of  ferocity. 
It  was  the  very  thing  to  give  Phil  smiling  con 
fidence. 

"  Old  Frightfulness  is  going  to  try  to  scare 
me !  "  he  thought. 


UNDER  ARREST  215 

Having  been  both  in  Germany  and  in  the 
Southwest,  he  recognised  that  the  tactics  of  a 
master  hand  in  the  world's  greatest  military 
machine  might  be  humanly  the  same  as  those  of  a 
bandit  leader  across  the  Rio  Grande. 

"  So  you  are  the  spy!  "  von  Stein  growled. 

"Not  at  all,  sir!  "  Phil  replied. 

"  Be  careful!     You  are  on  oath." 

"  So  I  understand." 

"  Are  you  English?  "  demanded  von  Stein,  with 
an  access  of  roaring  emphasis. 

From  the  frequency  of  this  question  and  its 
venom  Phil  gathered  that  the  English  could  not  be 
popular  in  German  military  circles. 

"  No,  American." 

"Prove  it!" 

"  As  you  have  all  my  papers  there,  may  I 
suggest  that  you  have  the  proof?  " 

Von  Stein  mumbled  an  ejaculation  through  his 
moustache,  while  the  corrugations  between  the 
bushy  brows  and  the  grey  line  of  closely-clipped 
hair  twitched. 

"What  are  you  in  Europe  for?" 

"  To  see  Europe — and  I'm  seeing  more  of  it 
than  I  bargained  for,"  answered  Phil. 

"  Do  not  joke  !  War  is  war  1  What  do  you 
mean,  you  a  foreigner,  an  American,  you  say,  by 
being  here  when  our  army  came?" 

"  Your  army  came  so  fast  that  I  could  not  get 


216  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

away  from  it,"  said  Phil  drily,  as  he  might  on 
a  hot  day  in  cactus  land. 

"Hur-r-r!"  or  something  like  it,  escaped 
through  von  Stein's  moustache  and  he  wiggled 
his  lips  in  a  way  that  might  have  meant  an  effort 
to  control  a  grin.  "  Why  are  you  in  that 
chateau?  " 

Phil  explained  quite  clearly,  even  telling  how 
Helen  had  remained  behind  and  he  had  returned 
to  look  after  her  and  to  find  that  it  was  impos 
sible  to  get  away  before  the  army  came. 

"What  is  your  business  in  America?" 

Phil  told  this,  too. 

"As  you  say;  but  how  can  we  tell  that  what 
you  say  is  true?  " 

"  As  obviously  neither  my  own  statement  nor 
appearace  counts,  by  investigation  of  my  ref 
erences  at  home  through  my  government,  if  my 
papers  and  letters  are  not  sufficient." 

"Hur-r-r!  "  again  mumbled  von  Stein.  Then 
he  broke  out  with  fearful  frightfulness :  "  Don't 
you  know  that  we  can  have  you  shot  as  a  spy?  "  he 
thundered. 

As  Phil  had  previously  remarked,  he  had  never 
liked  melodrama.  It  had  quite  gone  out  of 
fashion  at  home,  except  in  motion  pictures  of  the 
Southwest  as  shown  in  New  York  and  of  New 
York  as  shown  in  the  Southwest. 

"  Considering  the  number  of  your  soldiers,  not 
to  mention  the  number  of  your  guns  and  that  I 


UNDER  ARREST  217 

am  unarmed,  I  should  venture,  with  all  respect,  to 
say  that  that  is  a  safe  statement,"  said  Phil,  and 
he  was  smiling  pleasantly. 

"Hur-r-r!"  again  through  the  moustache; 
but  in  von  Stein's  grey  eyes  appeared  an  irresis 
tible  twinkle  and  this  time  he  actually  grinned. 
He  was  not  without  a  sense  of  humour.  He 
read  the  Fliegende  Blatter  every  week. 

"  It  agrees  with  my  examination  of  his  papers,'* 
put  in  the  Major,  indicating  the  exhibit  on  the 
table.  "  One  of  these  letters  is  from  his  em 
ployer,  a  big  man  on  the  other  side,"  he  added; 
and  Phil,  who  knew  German  better  than  French, 
understood  the  remark. 

The  General  took  three  or  four  minutes  to  run 
his  eye  over  the  letters  and  the  diary,  grumbling 
the  while,  and  finally  snorting  with  disgust  as 
he  picked  them  up  and  handed  them  to  Phil. 

"  Who  brought  these  charges?  "  he  demanded 
of  the  Major.  Up  to  that  time  he  had  read  only 
the  presentment  of  the  case  and  the  object  of  his 
questions  had  been  to  trip  the  accused. 

"  Lieutenant  von  Eichborn,  sir." 

Now  Phil  saw  what  Prussian  rage  was  like;  the 
rage  against  inefficiency,  against  disobedience  and 
waste  of  time. 

"  Fool!  Puppy  dog!  Pampered  jackanapes!  " 
he  roared.  "  Tell  that  worthless  nephew  of  mine 
to  come  here!  I'll  deal  with  him  for  the  last 
time!" 


218  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  He  is  out,  sir.  He  went  to  see  about  a  billet 
for  himself,"  said  the  Major  very  officially,  but  in 
his  eyes  was  a  satisfied  gleam  as  the  General  liter 
ally  choked  with  rage  against  not  only  all  the 
un-Prussian  crimes  already  mentioned,  but  worse. 

"  Out !  A  personal  aide  out  without  my  per 
mission  in  time  of  war!  Billeting  away  from  this 
chateau!  If  there  are  no  beds,  let  him  sleep  on 
the  floor  at  my  door  ready  for  my  call!  Out — 
when  we  are  fighting  a  battle !  " 

"  Possibly  you  will  find  him  at  Mervaux," 
Phil  could  not  help  saying,  "  engaged  in  persecut 
ing  my  cousin — which  accounts  for  my  impatience 
at  being  here  under  false  charges." 

"Take  care,  sir!  "  said  von  Stein,  turning  his 
ferocity  on  Phil.  "  You  are  a  civilian  making  ac 
cusations  against  a  Prussian  officer  and  gentle 
man!" 

"A  suggestion  only.  Am  I  acquitted?  I  am 
in  haste  to  return." 

Von  Stein  lowered  his  brows,  with  a  searching 
look  at  Phil. 

"  Of  course  you  think  we  are  Huns,"  he  said. 
"  The  English  have  told  you  so.  Huns!  "  The 
very  word  irritated  him,  yet  he  seemed  to  like  to 
repeat  it.  "Huns!  We  bring  order  wherever 
we  go.  We  are  fighting  in  our  defence  in  a  war 
that  was  forced  upon  us !  " 

There,  Phil  let  his  Southwestern  sense  of 
humour  eclipse  discretion. 


UNDER  ARREST  219 

"  Yes,  the  English  and  the  French  secretly  pre 
pared  against  you  !  They  made  thousands  of  new 
guns  and  marched  into  Belgium  and  invaded  Ger 
many !  "  he  said. 

The  Commander's  eyes  blazed.  He  stam 
mered.  Phil  thought  that  he  had  done  for  him 
self;  and  then  that  old  professional  soldier 
grinned. 

"  Huns,  are  we?  You  go  back  to  your  chateau 
and  stay  there.  Not  a  thing  on  the  premises  will 
be  harmed.  You  will  be  as  safe  as  you  are  at 
home.  Everybody  is.  If  you  are  not,  let  me 
know.  And  tell  your  friends  in  America  that  we 
are  not  Huns." 

For  after  the  orgy  of  Belgium  orders  had 
come  from  the  Most  High  which  had  America 
in  mind.  Even  the  Most  High  realised  the  moral 
force  of  the  hundred  million  people  across  the 
water.  Even  the  Most  High  had  found  that 
there  was  a  thing  called  world  public  opinion. 

"  Stood  up  to  it,  that  young  man!  "  muttered 
von  Stein  after  Phil  had  gone.  Having  been 
used  to  ordering  inferiors  about  all  his  life,  he 
had  had  a  diversion.  "  Now!  "  as  another  officer 
came  into  the  room  with  a  report. 

He  was  the  cool  man  of  judgment  and  precision 
as  he  went  to  the  map,  drew  some  lines  with  his 
pencil,  and  gave  some  orders.  After  this  officer 
had  departed  he  was  alone  in  the  big  room. 
Leaders  out  on  the  battle  line  had  been  told  what 


220  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

to  do  and  they  must  do  it  on  his  responsibility. 
He  could  give  no  further  orders  till  he  knew  the 
result.  Opening  the  door  to  the  adjoining  room 
he  asked: 

"  How  long  will  it  take  to  run  to  the  chateau 
of  Mervaux?" 

"Five  minutes,  sir!" 

"  Good!  I'll  be  back  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
and  I  am  to  be  found  there  or  on  the  road." 

He  strode  out  to  the  powerful  motor-car  that 
was  always  in  waiting  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

WITHOUT  any  regard  to  melodrama, 
when  Henrietta  looked  out  of  the 
window  after  von  Eichborn  had  rung  the 
bell  and  saw  him  on  the  steps  she  was  frightened. 
The  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  left  her  had  been  burn 
ing  in  her  recollection — the  kind  of  look  a  woman 
never  forgets.  His  smile  as  he  bowed  to  her 
now  was  characteristic  of  his  good  opinion  of 
himself. 

"  Having  an  idle  moment  I  came  to  call,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  thank  you!  "  she  answered  wildly. 

He  waited  for  her  to  come  to  the  door,  but 
she  stood  still,  pressing  her  fingers  to  her  temples 
in  blank  quandary.  Possibly  a  sense  of  self-accu 
sation  heightened  her  distraction.  She  had  been 
polite  to  him;  she  had  rather  opened  the  way  to 
this  visit.  How  was  she  to  escape  ?  She  looked 
around  at  her  wits'  end  and  saw  that  Helen  was 
in  the  room. 

"I  can't  see  him,  I  can't!"  she  exclaimed. 
'  You  must  get  me  out  of  it !  I  never  want  to 
speak  to  him  again!  " 

221 


222  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

She  turned  to  the  door  opening  onto  the  stair 
way  and  ran  through  it,  leaving  Helen  looking 
after  her  in  doubt  as  to  what  it  all  meant. 

Von  Eichborn,  having  formed  the  habit  in  a 
month  of  war  of  walking  into  chateaux  without 
formality,  waiting  no  longer  for  Henriette  to 
come  into  the  hall,  entered  the  sitting-room. 
Helen's  back  was  turned  to  him  and  he  easily 
mistook  her  figure  for  Henriette's. 

"  I  accepted  the  invitation  from  the  window, 
which  I  found  very  charming,"  he  said,  "  though 
from  your  present  attitude  I  might  be  led  to  think 
that  I  am  not  welcome." 

Rather  slowly  Helen  turned,  possibly  in  a  cer 
tain  cynical  anticipation  of  his  visible  surprise 
when  he  saw  her  face  instead  of  the  one  which 
had  led  him,  an  aide,  to  absent  himself  from  the 
General's  side.  Even  that  martial  self-posses 
sion  of  a  darling  of  Berlin  drawing-rooms  was 
temporarily  thrown  off  its  balance. 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  von  Eichborn. 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  thoughtfully  looking  him 
over  with  a  lift  of  her  chin,  "  I'm  Henriette's 
sister."  Inwardly  she  was  "  fighting  mad,"  but 
her  eyes  were  coldly  staring. 

"  Your  voices  are  alike,  but  you  do  not  look 
alike,"  von  Eichborn  managed  to  say.  He  screwed 
his  eyeglass  into  his  eye. 

"  Really!  You  have  quick  perceptions!  "  she 
remarked. 


A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES       223 

Von  Eichborn  dropped  his  eyeglass  and  flicked 
his  gloves,  which  he  was  carrying  in  his  hand, 
against  the  table. 

"And  the  sister?     I  came  to  see  her." 

"  She  does  not  want  to  see  you,  and  I'm  sure 
I  don't.  You  would  be  a  dreadful  bore."  All 
quite  judiciously  as  she  looked  him  over;  the 
Helen  of  impulses,  when  she  ought  to  have  been 
diplomatic  for  Phil's  sake,  according  to  melo 
dramatic  ethics. 

"  Bore !  "  That  darling  of  Berlin  salons  a 
bore !  "  Look  here,  you  shrewish,  homely  little 
brute,  I've  nothing  to  do  with  you !  "  he  blurted. 
"  Tell  your  sister  I'm  here — if  she  is  your  sister. 
I  think  you're  only  a  servant." 

Still  Helen  was  looking  him  over  with  cool, 
superior  eyes. 

"Very  bad-mannered,   too!"    she   remarked. 

"  But  perceptions  correct.  Shrewish  and 
homely,  yes!  " 

Nobody  on  earth  had  ever  spoken  to  him  in 
this  fashion  before.  He  did  not  think  such  dis 
respect  was  possible.  He  was  red-faced  and 
stuttering  as  he  took  a  step  toward  her,  rais 
ing  his  gloves  as  if  he  would  strike  her  as 
he  often  had  struck  his  soldier  servant;  but 
his  hand  dropped  in  face  of  her  unflinching 
stare. 

"'Look  here !  Do  you  know  that  I  am  an 
officer  on  the  staff  of  the  army  in  possession  of  this 


224  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

village?  I'm  going  to  be  billeted  here  and  I 
propose  to  choose  my  room." 

He  moved  toward  the  door  that  led  to  the 
stairs. 

"  Certainly!  "  she  answered,  passing  through  it 
ahead  of  him.  He  was  dumbfounded  at  her 
compliance  and  suspicious  of  its  promptness. 
"  Henriette,  the  beast  is  going  to  billet  himself 
here !  "  she  shouted  up  the  stairs.  "  You  pass 
through  the  other  way  and  I  will  meet  you  out 
side  and  we'll  go  to  the  cure,  who  will  speak 
to  the  General  in  command  about  it.  The  General 
may  be  a  decent,  respectable  man." 

Von  Eichborn  drew  back  from  the  doorway. 
Again  he  tried  to  fasten  his  eyeglass  in  his  eye; 
again  it  would  not  stick.  As  Helen  looked  around 
at  him  after  her  call  to  her  sister,  with  that  in  her 
stare  which  made  him  appear  the  most  ridiculous 
little  puppy  that  ever  left  a  kennel,  he  mum 
bled: 

"  Unnecessary!  " 

Then  she  saw  Phil  hurrying  across  the  grounds. 
She  only  knew  how  glad  she  was  to  see  him  and 
that  she  felt  limp  in  her  relief  as  he  appeared  in 
the  room,  looking  so  strong  and  ready  for  any 
eventuality.  It  was  another  picture  of  him  that 
she  would  never  forget. 

Von  Eichborn,  as  he  turned  in  surprise  and 
stood  there  between  the  two,  was  sheepish  and 
confused  as  a  human  being,  before  his  sense  of 


A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES       225 

authority  and  position  vented  its  truculence  with 
a  snarling  irony  of  inference. 

"  You  seem  not  to  have  been  looking  after  your 
cousins,"  he  said.  "  I  judge  that  the  pretty  one 
is  quite  devoted  to  you  and  the  shrew  here  keeps 
guard  in  your  absence." 

Something  carried  Phil  a  step  nearer  to  von 
Eichborn  involuntarily;  and  what  came  into  his 
eyes  was  distilled  of  that  old  blood  and  tempered 
by  three  years  in  the  Southwest. 

"  And  you,  I  judge,"  he  replied,  "  are  a 
cowardly  beast,  going  about  sneaking  into  homes 
when  no  men  are  present  and  others  in  your  uni 
form  are  under  fire !  " 

Cowardly  was  the  word  that  sent  von  Eichborn 
out  of  his  head  with  anger.  He  struck  at  Phil's 
face  with  his  gloves,  but  missed.  The  rest  was 
very  simple.  Von  Eichborn  went  sprawling.  His 
descent  was  rapid  and  unexpected  and  the  stun 
ning  effect  of  the  impact  was  accentuated  by  the 
way  his  head  hit  the  floor. 

"Good!  good!"  Helen  cried,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  It  was  never  done  better  in  the  movies! 

Good!  goo "  The  word  was  unfinished,  her 

jaw  dropping  aghast  with  the  seriousness  of  the 
situation. 

When  von  Eichborn  came  to  and  realised  what 
had  happened,  that  he  had  been  brutally  knocked 
down  by  a  civilian,  he  reached  for  his  revolver. 


226  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

There  was  murder  in  his  little  eyes.  But  Phil 
had  already  taken  the  revolver  out  of  its 
holster. 

"  You  have  struck  a  Prussian  officer  on  duty!  " 
he  stammered  as  he  got  to  his  feet.  '  That  is 
death,  as  you  will  find  out  as  soon  as  I  can  bring 
some  men." 

He  was  going  past  Phil  out  of  the  door;  but 
Phil  barred  the  way. 

"Wait!" 

And  von  Eichborn  had  to  wait.  The  position 
was  strange.  Here  was  the  darling  of  Berlin 
salons  and  the  aide  of  the  General  who  com 
manded  a  division  of  troops  which  possessed  the 
land  balked  by  a  mere  civilian,  a  mere  tourist; 
neither  being  armed.  It  was  humiliating,  dis 
gusting,  shameful.  Von  Eichborn  could  not  try 
to  force  his  way  to  the  door  for  fear  that  he 
might  be  knocked  down  again. 

"  Yes,  wait  and  consider,"  Phil  added.  "  Let's 
not  do  anything  rash,  but  think  it  over. 
Now "  " 

"  Phil,  don't !  "  Helen  broke  in  wildly.  "  You, 
an  American,  don't  realise.  He  can  have  you 
shot  for  striking  him." 

"  After  he  struck  me?  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it!  "  put  in  von 
Eichborn  hoarsely.  "  I'm  an  officer!  " 

"It's  all  true  what  he  says!"  said  Helen. 
There  was  no  banter  of  melodrama  about  her 


A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES       227 

now.  The  scene  had  become  tensely  real  and 
horrible. 

"  But  it  does  not  stand  to  reason!     It's " 

"Don't  smile  in  that  way!"  she  pleaded. 
"  We'll  lock  him  in  a  closet  and  I'll  stand  guard. 
That  will  give  you  time  to  run  for  it — or  some 
other  plan — anything  so  they  will  not  get  you 
— please,  please  !  " 

"  Very  moving  picture-ish  that,  Helen,"  he 
said.  "  No.  I'll  go  with  von  Eichborn  to  see 
his  General  and  explain  that  an  officer  invading  a 
private  house  struck  me  and  I  struck  him  back, 
that  being  a  custom  of  my  country  and  I  being 
ignorant  of  the  customs  of  foreign  countries. 
Come !  "  As  he  led  the  way  out  of  doors  he 
added  to  von  Eichborn:  "  Some  men  in  your  posi 
tion  might  want  to  forget  the  whole  experience." 

"  Not  that  you  struck  me  when  in  uniform ! 
Never!"  von  Eichborn  said.  "My  uncle  will 
punish  that.  You  will  be  shot,  as  Belgians  were 
for  the  same  offence." 

Helen  followed  them.  Henriette  was  already 
in  the  grounds,  having  come  down  from  her  room 
by  the  other  stairway.  Thus  von  Stein,  alighting 
from  his  car,  had  the  whole  group  before  him  as 
he  approached.  At  sight  of  him,  von  Eichborn 
murmured  something  under  his  breath  and 
clicked  his  heels  together  as  he  saluted. 

"  So  there  you  are,  you  scoundrel!  "  called  out 
the  General. 


228  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Von  Eichborn  knew  how  to  deal  with  the  rage 
of  an  uncle  who  had  no  son  of  his  own. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said  humbly.  "  I  came  to  inter 
rogate  these  two  young  women  about  this  man's 
case." 

"  Without  leave!  "  put  in  von  Stein  sternly. 

"  Time  was  important.  The  Major  said  you 
would  not  need  me.  You  were  busy." 

"  No  excuse !  "  blurted  von  Stein. 

"  Sorry,  sir!  "  replied  von  Eichborn.  "Then 
this  man  returned  to  the  house  and  struck  me 
with  his  fist!  " 

"You  struck  an  officer!"  Von  Stein  turned 
on  Phil,  Prussian  indignation  overwhelming  every 
other  idea.  "Why  didn't  you  shoot  him?"  he 
demanded  of  von  Eichborn. 

"  He  took  away  my  revolver  when  I  was 
down  and  stunned,"  explained  von  Eichborn. 

"Baby!"  roared  von  Stein.  "And  you — " 
to  Phil,  "  you  struck  an  officer !  That  is  settled !  " 

"After  he  had  struck  at  me!"  replied  Phil 
steadily. 

"  Yes,  at  his  face  with  his  gloves !  "  put  in 
Helen,  stepping  forward  and  looking  squarely  at 
the  General.  "  I  saw  it.  And  he  was  not  here  to 
interrogate  us.  He  wanted  to  go  upstairs  where 
my  sister  was.  Then  our  cousin  came." 

Von  Stein  gave  the  two  girls  a  scrutinising  look. 
There  was  truth  in  Helen's  eyes  as  surely  as 
Henriette  was  beautiful.  He  liked  Helen,  not 


A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES       229 

having  much  use  for  beautiful  women,  being  un 
happily  married  to  one.  But  aside  from  her  evi 
dence  he  knew  that  his  nephew  was  lying,  as  he 
had  before  to  get  himself  out  of  a  scrape. 

"  Did  you  try  to  go  upstairs?  Answer!  "  he 
said  to  von  Eichborn,  who  understood  from  ex 
perience  that  confession  was  best  when  his  uncle 
spoke  in  that  fashion. 

"Yes,  sir  I" 

"  And  you  struck  at  him?  " 

"  Yes,  he  insulted  me." 

"After      his      insult!"      interrupted      Phil. 

<(    T »» 

"Silence!"  von  Stein  roared  to  Phil.  "I'll 
attend  to  your  case  later.  Now,  as  for  you,"  to 
von  Eichborn,  "  first,  aide  of  a  division  general 
absent  without  leave  in  time  of  action;  second, 
billeting  himself  without  consent  of  his  superior; 
third,  wasting  his  superior's  time  with  a  set  of 
foolish  charges  against  a  civilian  for  a  mean 
personal  motive ;  fourth,  an  offence  to  two  young 
women  alone  in  a  house.  All  entirely  in  keep 
ing  with  previous  reprehensible  conduct,  without 
the  excuse  of  drunkenness  this  time." 

Thus  Prussian  system  established  the  case,  while 
von  Eichborn  stood  stock-still,  heels  together,  and 
trembling. 

'  You  have  played  on  my  sensibilities  for  the 
last  time,"  continued  von  Stein.  "  No  matter  how 
your  mother  pleads,  you  go  back  to  your  regiment, 


23o  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

where  you  will  have  the  chance  to  die  like  a 
soldier  if  there's  any  good  in  you.  Go  to  the 
car!" 

Von  Eichborn  saluted  and  obeyed. 

"  You  have  seen  Prussian  justice  done,"  von 
Stein  said,  turning  to  Phil.  "  But  you — you  struck 
a  Prussian  officer  with  your  fist!"  His  anger 
grew  as  he  thought  of  the  offence  against  the 
military  caste.  "  You — you  go  to  the  car,  too!  " 

"  The  custom  of  my  country!  "  said  Phil,  with 
out  moving.  "  We  have  our  code  of  personal 
honour  as  well  as  you.  I  could  not  have  done 
otherwise  and  ever  looked  my  friends  in  the  face. 
When  they  hear  the  story  and  your  view,  sir, 
well " 

"  The  barbarians  will  call  us  Huns !  "  von 
Stein  interrupted  savagely. 

"Yes,  I  should  think  so  !" 

It  seemed  unreal,  this  situation.  But  there 
was  the  Foreign  Office  in  Berlin  and  the  instruc 
tions  from  the  Most  High  since  the  whirlwind 
of  American  indignation  about  Belgium.  And 
this  young  man  acted  as  if  he  were  somebody  of 
importance. 

"  I'll  show  you  what  Prussian  clemency  is," 
said  von  Stein.  "  Because  you  are  a  foreigner  and 
ignorant,  I  will  overlook  the  offence.  Keep  to 
the  grounds,  as  I  told  you,  and  nobody  will  inter 
fere  with  you !  " 

After  he  had  gone,  sitting  on  the  back  seat 


A  BIT  FROM  THE  MOVIES       231 

of  the  car  with  the  expression  of  one  who  was 
conscious  of  an  act  of  noble  toleration,  with  von 
Eichborn  on  the  front  seat  beside  the  chauffeur, 
the  three  cousins  stared  at  one  another  wonder- 
ingly,  Henriette's  eyes  radiant  of  her  appreciation. 

"  You  saved  my  life,  first,  and  this  time " 

She  did  not  need  to  finish  the  phrase  except  with 
her  eyes. 

Helen,  whose  relief  had  been  so  personal, 
rallied  herself  a  little  nervously  with  a  return  to 
banter. 

"  That  was  surely  a  bit  from  the  movies,  serio 
comic!  "  she  said.  "  Still  another  cartoon  of  our 
hero's  progress  in  Europe !  We'll  call  it,  '  And 
he  shot  his  strong  right  arm  out  and  the  villain 
bit  the  dust.'  " 

"  Helen,  one  of  these  days  I'll "  Phil  fum 
bled  for  words  in  his  embarrassment. 

"  Do  something  else  grand  and  I'll  make  a  car 
toon  of  that,  too !  "  she  said  as  she  went  into 
the  house.  When  she  looked  into  the  mirror  again 
it  was  with  smiling  self-congratulation.  "  Plain 
face,  you  were  of  some  use  once,  anyway!  "  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

VICTORY ! 

A  PRUSSIAN    command   had   been   given. 
The  three  would  be  undisturbed  in  their 
retreat  as  long  as  they  remained  within 
the  grounds  of  the  chateau.     Of  itself  this  was 
no  great  hardship;  its  irritation  deep  from  the 
fact  that  it  was  by  Prussian  command. 

Any  sense  of  awkwardness  in  their  personal 
situation  had  passed.  It  seemed  quite  natural 
that  they  should  be  there  together  with  Jacqueline 
and  her  saucepans.  Their  story  as  a  story  halted, 
even  as  the  heartbeats  of  mankind  halted,  while  it 
waited  for  the  result  of  the  Marne. 

How  quiet  the  house !  How  quiet  the  shaded 
paths !  The  roads  were  empty  now  of  all  save 
transport  feeding  man  and  gun  and  of  ambu 
lances  returning  with  German  wounded.  Quiet 
here  and  hell  far  away  over  the  hills,  where 
the  destiny  of  France  and  the  world  was  being 
settled  in  the  toss  with  death.  Be  it  the  three, 
or  the  children  and  the  women  and  the  old  men 
in  the  village,  the  personal  thought  had  been 
submerged  in  straining  inquiry  of  how  the  battle 
was  going. 

232 


VICTORY!  233 

Sound  was  its  barometer.  Farther  and  farther 
the  voice  of  the  guns  had  travelled,  but  never  out 
of  hearing.  It  hovered  at  one  point  as  the 
titanic  struggle  came  to  a  decision.  The  three 
talked  little;  consciously  or  unconsciously,  they 
were  always  listening  for  something  from  the 
distance.  No  newspapers;  no  letters;  no  tele 
grams  !  Only  flagellating  wonder  and  suspense ! 
All  the  world  behind  dense  curtains  of  secrecy, 
not  knowing  whether,  when  they  were  drawn, 
there  would  be  sunlight  or  black  night  outside. 

Helen  went  on  with  her  sketching  or  pretended 
to,  but  found  herself  staring  at  the  paper  and 
listening  and  praying  for  France.  Twice  Hen- 
riette  attempted  to  continue  with  the  portrait,  but 
she  made  no  progress.  All  three  read  a  good 
deal,  Helen  by  herself,  slipping  away  from  the 
other  two  when  they  were  together.  They 
awakened  and  they  went  to  sleep  to  the  echo  of 
low  thunder,  thunder  marching  in  a  treadmill. 
Then  there  were  lapses  when  the  guns  were  not 
heard,  and  something  seemed  to  catch  in  their 
throats.  Had  the  Germans  won?  When  the 
wind  changed  and  the  rumble  became  distinct 
again,  what  relief! 

Their  steps  seemed  always  to  lead  to  the  ter 
race,  for  there  they  could  hear  more  plainly;  and 
there  they  would  walk  up  and  down  after  dinner, 
the  dew-moist  air  soft  against  their  faces,  Phil 
in  the  middle,  with  the  voices  of  the  two  girls  so 


234  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

alike  that  they  seemed  to  express  a  delightful 
cousinship  in  one  personality.  He  had  ceased 
to  think  of  the  future.  Everything  waited  on  the 
result  of  the  battle.  At  times  he  wished  for 
action;  that  he,  too,  might  be  striking  some  kind 
of  a  blow. 

Those  strolls  in  the  darkness  and  the  voice  in 
his  ears,  now  Helen's,  now  Henriette's,  seemed  to 
have  become  a  part  of  his  life;  something  from 
which  he  would  never  be  disassociated.  It  was  the 
symbol  for  Henriette,  frightened  and  helpless, 
as  he  carried  her  to  the  gully  and  for  Helen 
emerging,  with  triumph  shining  in  her  eyes,  from 
the  dust  and  smoke  of  the  shell  that  had  ex 
ploded  between  them.  Helen  had  a  little  prayer 
for  France  which  she  used  to  repeat,  sometimes 
softly,  again  belligerently  with  hands  clenched. 

"As  if  prayers  did  any  good!"  she  said. 
"  Only  killing  counts !  A  butcher  boy  from  Ber 
lin  could  fire  a  shell  that  would  destroy  the  Venus 
di  Milo." 

"  France  will  win  because  there  is  still  a  God  in 
heaven!  "  was  the  rallying  judgment  of  Jacque 
line,  when  everybody  was  blue. 

Up  at  dawn,  sweeping,  dusting,  and  scouring,  it 
was  she  who  brought  the  first  glorious  word. 
She  burst  into  Helen's  room,  awakening  her  with 
a  cry  of: 

"  It's  nearer — nearer !    Listen !  " 

Helen  ran  to  Henriette's  room  and  then  she 


VICTORY!  235 

pounded  on  Phil's  door.  Could  imagination  be 
deceiving  them  again?  Phil  slipped  into  his 
clothes  and  hurried  out  to  the  terrace.  He  could 
see  the  burst  of  light  smoke  once  more  against 
the  green  of  the  hills  which  had  hidden  the  battle, 
and  transport  going  to  the  rear  along  the  road 
was  more  numerous.  Only  ammunition  trucks  and 
ambulances  were  moving  forward.  He  ran  back 
to  the  house  in  schoolboy  delight,  shouting  the 
news. 

"  They  will  dent  my  saucepans,  will  they,"  said 
Jacqueline,  "  and  rub  sausage  grease  into  my 
floors!" 

She,  too,  went  to  the  terrace  to  watch  that 
unfolding  panorama  of  German  retreat;  of 
cavalry  which  was  covering  it  caught  in  the  hot 
breath  of  the  soixante-quinze;  of  guns  which  were 
covering  it  forced  back  from  position  to  position. 

Staggering  through  the  village  street  came  the 
conquerors  of  yesterday,  their  glazed  eyes  under 
heavy  lids,  keeping  dogged  step  from  force  of 
long  discipline — they  who  were  not  to  see  Paris ! 
French  shell-fire  kept  approaching  till  shrapnel 
began  to  break  over  the  village.  Again  the  three 
had  to  take  to  the  cellar,  where  for  a  while  they 
heard  the  rattle  of  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire  and 
an  occasional  cheer — a  kind  of  cheer  that  sounded 
strangely  familiar  to  Phil.  When  they  came  up 
stairs  the  figures  passing  in  the  village  street  were 
no  longer  in  green,  but  in  khaki.  The  remnants 


236  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

of  the  little  British  army  which  had  retreated  from 
Mons  was  tasting  the  joy  of  pursuit. 

Everybody  in  the  village  was  out,  lining  the 
road;  everybody,  from  Mere  Perigord  to  infants 
in  arms,  displaying  the  smiles  they  had  been  con 
serving  while  they  had  been  glaring  at  the  Ger 
mans.  The  children  gathered  flowers  and  tossed 
them  to  les  Anglais  before  their  eyes  in  the  life, 
looking  just  as  they  had  looked  in  the  picture 
papers. 

"  How  do  you  like  being  a  conquering  hero, 
Bill?  "  one  Anglais  called  to  another,  as  he  stuck 
a  rose  in  his  cap  and  relit  the  "  fag  "  cigarette 
stump  which  he  had  been  saving  behind  his  ear 
in  the  midst  of  charges  and  shell-fire.  Plodding 
stoically  on,  these  regulars,  taking  the  day's  work 
as  it  came,  and  this  was  a  day's  work  to  their 
liking.  "  Are  we  down-hearted?  No!"  Every 
one  of  them  looked  at  Phil.  There  was  no  mis 
taking  him;  he  must  speak  English.  The  lean, 
tired  officers  waved  their  hands  in  greeting  to  the 
young  man  and  two  girls  who  were  beaming  the 
welcome  of  their  hearts. 

"  Sorry  we  can't  stay  to  tea ! "  one  called 
merrily. 

It  was  a  suggestion.  Afternoon  tea  for  the 
English!  An  opportunity  for  the  chateau  to 
furnish  an  important  British  munition  of  war,  as 
the  battalion  halted  waiting  orders  from  some 
body  up  ahead!  Jacqueline  made  a  pail  of  tea, 


VICTORY!  237 

which  the  three  passed  out,  along  with  slices  of 
bread  spread  with  jam  as  long  as  there  was  any 
left. 

"  Jolly  good  of  you !  "  said  the  officers.  "  Such 
good  tea,  too — and  jam!  This  takes  a  bit  of 
beating.  Thanks  awfully!" 

The  battalion  passed  on  with  the  tide  of  battle. 

"  This  is  the  only  time  that  I  have  not  felt 
perfectly  helpless,"  said  Helen.  "  There  is  so 
little  a  woman  can  do  when  fighting  is  all  that 
counts." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that  myself,"  said  Phil. 
"  How  helpless  I  am,  though  an  able-bodied 
man!" 

"  But  you  did  knock  a  German  down!  "  said 
Helen,  with  one  of  her  mischievous  glances. 

From  the  terrace  they  could  now  see  the  French 
everywhere,  in  the  ravines  and  on  the  roads, 
sweeping  across  the  fields  in  the  wonderfully 
ordered  system  of  a  great  army  which  had  had 
generations  of  training. 

"  It  is  good — good — good!  "  said  Helen. 

They  had  recovered  something  which  they  had 
lost:  the  sense  of  freedom.  The  chateau  and 
the  grounds  were  once  more  their  own;  their 
minds  and  their  souls  were  their  own.  Jacque 
line's  exaltation  expressed  itself  in  an  amazingly 
good  dinner;  Helen's  in  a  series  of  fresh  cartoons 
over  their  coffee,  which  included  "  our  hero " 
from  the  Southwest  knocking  down  the  German. 


23  8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

A  call  from  the  cure  brought  word  that  trains 
would  begin  running  to  Paris  on  the  morrow, 
which  was  a  reminder  to  all  that  their  period  of 
isolation  was  over;  and  for  Phil  a  strange  and 
memorable  holiday  would  be  at  an  end.  Helen 
went  out  with  the  cure  and  Phil  and  Henriette 
turned  up  the  path.  After  they  had  watched  the 
flashes  of  the  guns  in  the  distance  for  a  while, 
they  started  walking  slowly  back  and  forth. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  if  you 
had  not  been  here,"  she  said. 

"  At  least,  I  kept  you  in  the  cellar !  Are  you 
glad  that  you  came?  "  he  asked. 

"I  would  not  have  missed  it  for  worlds!" 
answered  Henriette.  "  And  I  owe  it  to  you." 

"  No,  to  Helen.  But  for  her  we  should  have 
been  in  Paris." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  she  replied  thoughtfully. 
"  And  what  would  have  become  of  her  if  we  had 
not  come?  " 

"  Gone  on  sketching  until  a  shell  hit  her,  I 
should  say." 

"  Or  until  she  saw  a  wounded  man  and  fainted! 
But  there  is  something  that  I  do  owe  to  you  and  to 
you  alone,"  Henriette  went  on  softly.  "  I  am 
appalled  when  I  think  of  it — of  the  obligation. 

I — well "  now  one  of  her  trickling,  enchanting 

laughs.  "  There's  the  portrait  to  repay  you ! 
I  think  that  we  might  have  a  sitting  in  the 
morning." 


VICTORY!  239 

Here  a  white  figure  appeared  around  the  corner 
of  the  path,  and  they  were  face  to  face  with 
Helen.  She  drew  back  in  the  embarrassment  of 
one  conscious  of  more  than  a  mere  inadvertent 
intrusion. 

"  I  was  going  to  look  at  the  gun-fire  for  a 
minute,"  she  said.  It  might  have  been  Hen- 
riette's  voice  suddenly  changing  the  subject.  She 
had  on  the  simple  gown  whose  cut  was  the  same 
as  Henriette's,  who  had  dressed  for  dinner  that 
evening  with  her  usual  care.  Something  in 
Helen's  distraitness,  a  sense  of  her  loneliness, 
aroused  an  impulse  in  Phil. 

"  Make  it  three !  "  said  he.  He  went  to  her, 
took  her  hand  and  drew  her  arm  into  his.  She 
seemed  to  resist  slightly  and  then  to  yield  almost 
tremblingly.  Henriette  also  slipped  her  arm  into 
his. 

"Cousins!"  she  exclaimed,  a  happy  thought 
in  view  of  the  situation  in  more  ways  than  one. 

They  paced  on  together,  two  white  slippers 
moving  from  under  white  skirts  against  the  dark 
earth  in  unison  with  his  own  steps.  Cousins ! 
But  any  reason  for  his  remaining  at  Mervaux  was 
past. 

"  Now  I  shall  go  to  Paris  to-morrow,"  said 
Phil,  "  and  inform  your  mother,  wherever  she  is, 
that  you  are  all  right,  and  get  off  a  cable  to  an 
old  couple  in  Longfield  which  will  stop  their 
worrying." 


240  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  I  think  that  we  had  better  go  with  you,"  said 
Henriette.  "  Don't  you,  Helen?  " 

"Yes,  to  Paris!  "  said  Helen,  with  such  defi- 
niteness  that  it  surprised  her  sister.  Her  mind 
was  no  less  fixed  than  when  she  had  decided  to 
remain  alone  at  Mervaux.  She  and  her  thousand 
francs  and  her  sketches  were  going  to  America 
in  the  hazard  of  new  fortunes.  "  I  only  ran  up  to 
see  the  gun-fire  and  I  think  I'll  look  in  on  Mere 
Perigord  and  get  her  views  on  the  state  of  affairs 
in  France,"  she  added,  starting  to  withdraw  her 
hand;  but  Phil  held  it  fast. 

"  Our  last  night  together  at  Mervaux,"  he  said. 
"  Let  Mere  Perigord  wait." 

Something  strong  and  irresistible  in  his  grip 
made  her  yield;  but  he  could  not  see  the  twinge 
in  her  features  hidden  by  the  darkness.  It  was 
torture  for  her,  this  promenade  with  the  man  to 
whom  she  had  said  "  Yes."  The  desire  for  flight 
had  never  been  so  strong;  flight  from  Mervaux 
and  all  old  associations  to  new  worlds. 

They  had  ceased  to  talk  as  they  kept  on  rhyth 
mically  pacing  in  the  dark,  each  with  his  own 
thoughts.  Phil,  looking  backward  now  when  the 
strain  had  passed,  saw  the  whole  experience  at 
Mervaux  with  a  sense  of  personal  incompetency; 
as  a  helpless  spectator  of  action. 

"  I'm  getting  sleepy!  "  Helen  pleaded  at  last. 

"  So  am  I,"  Phil  replied.  "  Four  more  turns !  " 
He  did  not  like  to  part  with  their  companionship 


VICTORY!  241 

in  the  faint  starlight  this  last  evening  at  Mer- 
vaux. 

"You  will  go  straight  to  America?"  Hen- 
riette  asked,  as  they  started  toward  the  house. 

"  I  think  so,  if  I  can  catch  a  steamer.  I 
imagine  that  not  one-tenth  of  the  homeward  rush 
has  been  accommodated  yet." 

Not  until  they  reached  the  door  did  the  three 
unlink  arms.  Helen,  blinking  into  the  lamplight 
of  the  hall,  bent  her  head.  She  was  swallowing  as 
if  she  would  try  her  voice  before  she  said  "  Good 
night!  "  with  the  faintest  smile,  as  for  an  instant 
her  eyes  looked  into  his  and  he  saw  something 
that  reminded  him  of  the  brilliancy  and  fearless 
ness  that  had  shone  when  she  rose  from  the 
ground  after  the  shell-burst,  but  now  veiled. 

Henriette  paused  and,  as  the  door  closed  be 
hind  Helen,  held  out  her  hand  to  say  her  own 
good-night.  After  looking  into  Helen's  eyes  he 
was  looking  into  Henriette's,  which  had  the  won 
dering  gratitude  of  the  moment  when  he  had 
laid  her  on  the  turf  in  the  gully,  and  her  smile, 
as  her  eyelashes  flickered,  added  the  touch  of  ex 
quisite  charm  to  her  appealing  beauty.  Involun 
tarily  in  answer  to  it  he  drew  her  hand  toward 
him. 

"Henriette!" 

She  turned  her  head,  her  profile  with  parted 
lips,  toward  him,  and  her  cheek  so  near  that  im 
pulse  pressed  his  lips  to  it.  At  this  she  drew  away, 


242  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

not  quickly  but  steadily,  looking  back  into  his 
eyes,  and  after  a  tightening  of  her  fingers  drew 
them  free.  Then  in  a  flutter,  her  own  eyes  lumi 
nous  with  surprise,  she  precipitately  turned  toward 
the  door.  In  her  room,  smiling  into  her  mirror 
which  smiled  back,  she  was  pleased  with  the  way 
the  thing  had  been  done ;  but  to  Phil  her  figure, 
as  it  passed  through  the  doorway,  became  un 
accountably  the  figure  of  Helen. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

LONGFIELD  DECIDES 

HOW  Madame  Ribot  travelled  third-class 
all  night  to  Boulogne,  where  she  was 
crowded  on  board  a  steamer  with  Bel 
gian  refugees  and  American  tourists,  whom  she 
found  equally  objectionable  in  interfering  with 
her  comfort,  and  then  finally  to  London  and 
Truckleford,  was  a  narrative  which  excited  such 
sympathy  in  the  simple  vicarage  that  life  there 
was  soon  adapted  entirely  to  her  habits.  News 
that  her  daughters  were  safe  was  a  relief  to  her: 
but  the  announcement  that  they  were  on  their 
way  to  join  her  brought  a  premonition  of  over 
crowding. 

The  same  kind  of  journey  that  she  had  made 
the  three  cousins  made.  From  London  Hen- 
riette  went  on  to  Truckleford,  but  Helen 
astounded  her  sister  by  remaining  in  town,  giving 
as  her  reason  that  she  wanted  to  see  if  she  could 
not  sell  some  of  her  sketches.  She  said  nothing 
of  her  trip  to  America,  which  she  realised  once 
she  saw  the  crowds  of  stranded  Americans  must 
be  given  up  for  the  present  for  want  of  steamer 
accommodation.  Her  au  revoir  to  Phil  had  been 

243 


244  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

spoken  at  the  Victoria  Station;  a  handshake,  with 
the  understanding  that  they  would  meet  at 
Truckleford.  Thus  they  parted  without  his  know 
ing  her  hotel.  A  few  hours  later  she  was  sitting 
beside  the  desk  of  an  agent  while  he  looked  over 
her  few  finished  sketches.  As  businesslike  as  M. 
Vailliant,  he  told  her  to  go  home  and  do  more, 
and  he  would  try  to  dispose  of  those  that  were 
completed. 

Something  which  had  been  working  in  Phil's 
secret  brain  had  come  to  a  head.  The  recollection 
of  having  been  marched  up  a  village  street  be 
tween  two  Prussian  bayonets  did  not  sit  easily 
in  the  blood  of  his  inheritance  of  freedom.  The 
French  were  fighting  against  that  kind  of  tyranny; 
those  poor  Belgian  women  and  children  on  the 
steamer  were  the  victims  of  it.  When  he  stepped 
ashore  at  Folkestone  it  was  with  the  thrill  of  relief 
of  one  who  has  come  to  the  home  of  another  kind 
of  principle,  which  was  that  of  his  inheritance. 
Here  they  were  speaking  his  own  tongue;  here 
the  system  was  individualism.  The  green  pas 
tures  and  hedges  had  an  appeal  which  they  lacked 
before  he  crossed  the  Channel.  On  the  train  an 
attache  of  the  Paris  Embassy  whom  he  knew  had 
introduced  him  to  a  general,  who  had  asked  Phil 
to  look  in  at  the  War  Office.  In  London  the 
press  and  the  hoardings  called  to  arms.  War 
was  in  the  air;  and  he  was  young.  Instead  of 
trying  to  push  his  way  through  the  crowd  in  front 


LONGFIELD  DECIDES  245 

of  the  steamship  offices,  he  went  to  a  cable  office 
and  sent  a  despatch  to  Longfield: 

"  With  your  permission  I  am  going  to  fight. 
Answer." 

Dr.  Sanford  received  this  message  only 
twenty-four  hours  later  than  one  from  Paris  an 
nouncing  that  Phil  was  on  his  way  to  London. 
The  girl  in  the  telegraph  office  saw  the  Doctor 
passing  along  the  street  on  his  afternoon  con 
stitutional  just  after  the  despatch  had  been  clicked 
in  from  New  York.  It  was  not  her  business  to 
know  what  was  in  telegrams  once  she  had  tran 
scribed  them;  but  this  one  was  like  a  hot  breath 
from  the  cataclysm  shot  across  the  Atlantic  into 
a  quiet  New  England  village.  She  pretended 
to  be  busy  as  she  watched  the  Doctor.  On  this 
occasion  his  spectacles  happened  to  be  in  the 
right-hand  trousers'  pocket,  which  was  the  last 
one  that  he  investigated.  Ever  since  he  had  had  to 
wear  spectacles  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  establish  a 
system  of  carrying  them  in  the  same  pocket;  but  in 
order  to  have  it  work  he  must  think  which  was 
the  right  pocket  when  he  put  them  in,  rather  than 
when  he  came  to  look  for  them. 

The  girl  was  amazed  when  he  gave  no  indica 
tion  of  excitement  after  the  reading,  let  alone  a 
start  of  surprise,  which  "  certainly  beat  me,"  to 
put  it  in  her  own  language,  "  considering  how  he 
worshipped  Phil  and  Phil  was  asking  permission 
to  be  killed  in  Europe  like  he  was  asking  permis- 


246  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

sion  to  go  fishing.  People  are  queer,  and  never 
so  queer  as  when  they  get  notice  of  sudden  death 
or  an  elopement!  " 

When  she  asked,  belying  her  gasping  curiosity, 
if  there  was  any  answer,  the  Doctor  said  "  None  ! " 
in  his  quiet,  absent-minded  way,  as  he  folded  the 
telegram  and  this  time  put  the  spectacles  in  his 
inside  coat  pocket. 

"  I  must  think  this  over  a  little  before  I  speak 
to  mother  about  it,"  he  thought,  after  he  had 
turned  into  the  street  and  as  soon  as  he  was 
capable  of  thinking — such  had  been  the  blow 
of  the  message.  The  shadow  of  the  statue  lay 
across  his  path  at  the  time.  He  looked  up  at  the 
ancestor  questioningly.  The  ancestor  kept  on 
charging  British  redcoats. 

Dr.  Sanford  took  a  long  way  around  back  to 
the  house.  Every  familiar  landmark  seemed  to 
recall  some  boyhood  anecdote  of  Phil.  If 
only  there  had  been  two  boys  or  a  girl! 
With  all  of  his  thinking  he  was  blank-minded 
when  he  sat  down  in  his  favourite  chair  on  the 
porch. 

"What's  happened,  dear?"  Mrs.  Sanford 
asked  at  once.  She  knew  his  signs  of  emotion 
better  than  the  telegraph  girl. 

"  Why,  I  have  another  cable  from  Phil,"  he 
replied. 

"  Is  he  ill  or  hurt?  Don't  hold  back — I  want  to 
know!" 


LONGFIELD  DECIDES  247 

"  No,  he's  well.  It  isn't  that.  It's — well — 
it's  asking  our  permission " 

"  I  know!     He  wants  to  fight!  " 

Now,  how  could  she  guess  that?  But  she  was 
an  amazing  woman,  as  he  had  often  said. 

"  Yes."     He  passed  the  cablegram  to  her. 

"  I'm  not  surprised,"  she  said,  after  reading 
it.  "  I'd  been  fearing  it  all  along." 

"  Yes,  he  could  not  stand  by  and  see  such  wrong 
done  without  wanting  to  strike  his  blow.  I  honour 
him  for  it." 

"  But  he's  Phil — the  only  boy  we  have !  " 

"  I  am  leaving  it  to  you,"  the  Doctor  con 
cluded.  "  He  will  not  if  you  say  not." 

"  We'll  think  it  over,"  said  Mrs.  Sanford. 

When  they  broke  silence  and  began  a  discus 
sion  of  the  pros  and  cons  it  was  only  to  return  to 
silence;  for  they  were  merely  rehearsing  the  heads 
of  trains  of  thought  that  occurred  to  both  of 
them  in  a  vicious  circle.  At  the  supper  table 
Jane  realised  that  something  was  wrong,  and 
poignantly  wrong. 

"  If  it's  about  Phil,"  she  blurted  out,  "  I  guess 
I'm  entitled  to  know !  " 

When  they  told  her,  she  said: 

"  Against  that  thieving  Kaiser  and  for  them 
poor  little  Belgiums !  He  just  couldn't  help  it! 
That's  Phil  all  over.  But  it  ain't  the  United 
States'  war,  it's  Europe's;  and  all  I've  got  to  say 
is  that  maybe  he'll  never  come  back.  He'll  just 


248  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

be  killed  and  buried  over  in  them  furrin 
parts." 

"  We've  thought  of  that,  Jane,"  replied  Mrs. 
Sanford. 

"  You're  going  to  let  him  do  it !  "  gasped  Jane. 
"  He  won't,  though,  if  you  say  not." 

"Buried  in  furrin  parts!"  Jane  repeated  in 
fresh  horror.  This  was  the  most  awful  aspect 
of  it  to  her.  If  one  insisted  on  being  killed  it 
ought  to  be  at  home,  where  he  could  be  laid  in 
the  family  plot. 

After  supper  the  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Sanford 
went  into  the  study,  though  it  was  early  Septem 
ber  and  hot.  There  they  sat  silent  as  the  flow 
of  still  waters  which  run  deep. 

"  I  leave  it  to  you  and  to  him,"  she  said 
quietly,  after  a  time. 

Dr.  Sanford  hunted  in  his  desk  and  found  a 
telegraph  blank,  and  rapidly  in  his  fine,  small 
hand  which  was  suggestive  of  his  mental  self-pos 
session  when  he  had  a  pen  between  his  fingers,  he 
wrote : 

"  Yes,  by  Jehovah,  fight  if  your  heart  is  in  the 
cause  and  you  are  not  fighting  for  fighting's 
sake." 

After  Mrs.  Sanford,  who  had  been  sitting  very 
still,  had  read  it  she  nodded.  The  decision  was 
made.  It  takes  such  occasions  as  this  to  prove 
that  fortitude  still  survives  in  quiet  people  who 
live  on  quiet  village  streets. 


LONGFIELD  DECIDES  249 

Before  going  to  bed  Dr.  Sanford  wrote  to  the 
vicar  of  Truckleford: 

"  It  has  been  our  aim  to  teach  Phil  self-reliance 
and  to  decide  for  himself.  He  is  going  to  fight 
for  the  same  kind  of  a  cause  that  the  ancestor 
fought  for,  this  time  with  the  British.  He  is  very 
far  away  from  us,  but  we  are  happy  to  think  that 
he  will  have  a  second  home  with  you." 

He  showed  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Sanford,  who 
approved  it. 

As  soon  as  Phil  received  the  cable  he  moved  on 
the  War  Office.  As  he  approached  that  enormous 
pile  of  stone  he  felt  his  inconsequence  and  quizzi 
cally  wondered  if  anybody  had  ever  laughed  in-» 
side  its  solemn  halls.  Would  the  General  whom 
Phil  had  met  on  the  train  see  him  ?  An  august  per 
son  who  attended  at  the  door  allowed  him  to  write 
his  name  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and  after  a  while  a 
messenger  conducted  him  to  the  General's  office, 
through  the  long,  gloomy  corridors,  which  seemed 
to  protest  against  the  activity  which  the  war  had 
brought. 

The  General  was  doing  the  work  of  five  men 
because  there  were  so  few  officers  who  knew 
how  to  do  that  kind  of  work  and  trying,  English 
fashion,  not  to  make  any  show  of  it,  in  order  to 
preserve  his  appearance  of  poise  and  leisure- 
liness.  He  asked  Phil  what  his  training  had  been 
and  then  stepped  into  an  adjoining  room,  where 


2 5o  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

he  spoke  to  another  general.  The  door  had  been 
left  open,  so  that  the  other  general  could  look 
over  the  slim  figure,  with  its  well-moulded 
features,  which  stood  awaiting  the  result. 

"  Rather  got  me,  his  wanting  to  fight,  so  dif 
ferent  from  the  usual  soldier  of  fortune  type," 
he  said.  "  Nice  chap,  well  set  up,  from  one  of 
the  great  American  colleges.  Just  the  man  for 
the  guns.  That  attache  fellow  said  he  came  from 
good  old  stock,  which  you  can  see  for  yourself." 

He  returned,  after  the  other  general  had  writ 
ten  the  name  of  Philip  Sanford  on  a  sheet  of 
paper,  to  say  that  Philip  Sanford  would  be 
gazetted  a  second  lieutenant  of  artillery.  They 
were  making  second  lieutenants  rapidly  at  the 
War  Office  in  those  days.  Phil  did  not  know 
anything  about  guns,  but,  then,  he  knew  as  much 
as  many  other  second  lieutenants  of  artillery. 

"  You  will  get  word  when  and  where  to  re 
port,"  said  the  General.  "  And  jolly  fine  of  you, 
I  must  say!  " 

The  thing  was  done;  no  turning  back,  now. 
The  next  step  was  to  send  a  cable  announcing  his 
decision  to  his  employer,  who  replied : 

"  Go  ahead.     We'll  keep  your  job  for  you!  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HELEN     ARRIVES 

PHIL  enclosed  his  father's  cablegram  in  a 
letter  to  the  vicar  of  Truckleford,  which 
was  answered  by  a  telegram  reminding 
him  that  he  was  expected  "  home  "  very  soon. 
With  only  thirty-six  hours  which  he  could  call 
his  own  before  he  reported  for  duty,  he  set  out 
by  the  early  afternoon  train.  He  had  bought 
all  the  textbooks  of  gunnery  that  he  could  find 
in  the  shops,  and  had  sat  up  cramming  the  previ 
ous  night.  Four  of  them  were  in  his  bag  and  one 
was  under  his  arm,  along  with  some  magazines 
that  he  had  bought  at  the  stall,  as  he  followed  the 
porter  down  the  platform  of  the  station. 

His  recollection  of  all  that  had  happened  since 
he  had  taken  that  same  train  two  months  ago 
was  startled  by  one  of  the  associations  of  the 
first  journey  in  the  life  entering  a  compartment 
just  ahead  of  him.  Helen  Ribot,  too,  was  going 
to  Truckleford.  He  wondered  how  he  should 
interpret  her  start,  with  its  long-drawn  "Oh!" 
at  sight  of  him;  but  she  hastened  to  make  her  own 
interpretation  when  she  had  recovered  from  her 
surprise. 

251 


252  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  It's  the  first  time  I've  been  down,"  she  said, 
"  and  I'm  going  only  for  a  day,  as  I'm  very 
busy  and  living  regularly  in  London,  now." 

There  was  a  cheery  tone  of  independence  in  the 
closing  statement,  for  statement  it  was.  In  the 
midst  of  war  Miss  Helen  Ribot  had  made  her 
own  start  in  the  world.  Then  some  common 
places.  Yes,  her  mother  was  still  at  Truckleford 
and  Henriette  with  her.  Both  were  well.  Had 
he  heard  from  home?  Yes,  it  looked  as  if  the 
Germans  had  made  a  decided  stand  on  the  Aisne. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  prepared  to  read.  So  am 
I,"  she  concluded  pleasantly,  as  she  took  a  book 
out  of  her  bag. 

Puzzled  by  this  new  Helen,  so  poised  and  af 
fable  but  somehow  uncousinly,  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  follow  her  suggestion.  As  he  turned 
the  leaves  of  one  of  the  big  illustrated  weeklies 
he  noted  something  so  distinctively  familiar  with 
the  first  glance  at  the  double  page,  that  he  would 
have  recognised  a  single  figure  of  the  drawing  of 
the  Germans  in  retreat  from  the  Marne,  without 
having  the  confirmation  of  Helen  Ribot's  signa 
ture  in  the  lower  right-hand  corner. 

"  Caught !  "  he  exclaimed  triumphantly,  as  he 
turned  the  page  about  and  held  it  up  before  her. 
"  The  fell  secret  of  Mervaux  revealed  to  the 
public  at  large!  Congratulations!  " 

Helen  lowered  her  head,  flushing  at  this  accus 
ing  broadside  of  publicity  staring  her  in  the  face, 


HELEN  ARRIVES  253 

while  he  was  as  happy  as  if  the  picture  were  his 
own. 

"  It's  corking!  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  the  agent  liked  it,  and  he  has  sold 
others,  too,"  she  said,  looking  up,  the  magic  of 
the  whole  business  in  her  eyes.  "  And  they  want 
more.  Think  of  that!  And  the  agent  is  going 
to  send  them  to  America  and  thinks  that  they  will 
sell  there!  " 

It  would  be  false  to  say  that  Helen  was  over 
set-up  with  her  success;  but  she  was  human.  Bet 
ter,  that  double  page  was  a  token  of  freedom 
earned  and  gained.  Henceforth,  she  could  be 
herself. 

"  Cartoons,  too  I  "  she  added,  when  she  saw 
how  interested  he  was.  "  They  particularly  want 
cartoons,  some  of  the  editors.  I  did  a  series  of 
that  old  von  Stein  after  I  showed  the  one  of  you 
knocking  von  Eichborn  down." 

"  Good  heavens!  You "  Would  print  it, 

he  was  going  to  say,  but  broke  off,  for  she  was 
laughing  in  a  way  that  saved  him  from  gulping 
down  the  bait. 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  sell  any  cartoons  unless 
I  need  to  in  order  to  pay  the  rent.  I  mean,  it 
spoils  the  fun  I  get  out  of  them," 

"  So  we  are  earning  our  own  living,  now,"  he 
said.  His  admiration  was  transparent.  He  had 
ea'rned  his  and  knew  what  it  meant  to  get  a  start. 

Helen  nodded. 


254  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  I've  got  forty  pounds  already  to  go  with  the 
thousand  francs.  Let's  see,  that  is  almost  four 
hundred  dollars  in  American  money !  I'm  a  proud 
wage-earner  and  even  consider  becoming  a  bloated 
bond-holder !  " 

She  was  smiling  and  laughing  all  the  time,  this 
changed,  this  free  Helen,  still  uncousinly,  a 
person  apart,  and  buoyantly  happy — until  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the  small  panel 
mirror  opposite.  Then  her  features  relaxed. 

"  And  you?  "  she  asked,  putting  out  her  hand 
for  her  book,  which  she  had  laid  on  the  seat. 
"  Have  you  got  passage  back  to  America  yet?  " 

"  No.  I "  And  he  told  her  briefly  what 

he  had  done. 

With  the  very  announcement,  the  mirror  warn 
ing  and  another  warning  which  sprang  from  the 
memory  of  the  scene  under  the  tree  at  Mervaux 
were  forgotten  in  the  impulse  which  made  her 
lean  across  the  aisle  in  passionate  interest. 

"  It  was  like  you !  "  she  exclaimed.  '  The  old 
father  and  mother  at  home,  what  did  they  say?  " 
She  wanted  to  know  all  about  it.  "  And  Peter 
Smithers?"  she  added. 

"  Not  heard  from  yet,"  Phil  replied.  "  It's 
surprising  how  you  recollect  Peter." 

"  I'd  like  to  make  a  cartoon  of  Peter;  I  don't 
know  why,  for  I've  never  heard  a  dozen  sen 
tences  about  him.  And  in  the  artillery!  Then 
you'll  be  doing  the  sort  of  thing  we  watched  the 


HELEN  ARRIVES  255 

soixante-quinze  doing  at  Mervaux.  And  you're 
a  real  sub-lieutenant!  Aren't  you  proud?  " 

"Oh,  fit  to  burst!  " 

"  And  you  will  be  ordering  people  about  and 
others  will  be  ordering  you  about,"  she  con 
tinued,  returning  to  the  mischievous  vein.  "  I 
shall  have  to  make  another  cartoon  of  how  our 
newest  subaltern  looked  to  himself  the  first  time 
he  had  on  his  uniform  and  how  he  felt  when  the 
general  came  to  inspect  his  battery  for  the  first 
time." 

Just  then  it  occurred  to  Helen  that  she  had 
talked  enough;  but  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  to 
tell  him  that  she  had  put  her  name  down  on  a  list 
which  would  ensure  her  wearing  a  uniform  and 
working  in  a  hospital — she  who  dreaded  the  sight 
of  blood.  No,  this  was  her  business.  Now  she 
took  up  her  book  again  with  a  sense  of  relief,  and 
settled  well  down  in  the  corner  of  the  seat,  as  if 
to  make  herself  as  small  as  possible.  She  held 
the  book  well  up,  her  lowered  lashes  just  showing 
above  the  cover's  edge. 

Phil  glanced  up  from  his  artillery  cramming 
at  times  to  find  her  still  reading,  or,  if  she  were 
looking  away  from  the  page,  it  was  out  of  the 
window,  unconscious  of  his  presence.  At  such 
moments  her  eyes  would  open  wide  as  some  ob 
ject  interested  her  vividly,  most  vividly  for  an 
instant,  seeing  pictures,  making  pictures,  always. 
A  fine  nobility  about  the  forehead;  indeed,  a 


256  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

beautiful  forehead,  with  its  rich,  dark  eyebrows 
under  the  crowning  glory  of  the  hair  that  seemed 
to  hold  the  particles  of  sunlight  that  filtered 
through  the  glass,  and  small,  delicately-shaped 
ears  set  close  to  the  head.  There  was  more  in 
that  head  than  he  had  ever  guessed.  Only  a  small 
part  of  its  infinite  variety  came  out  of  the  fingers' 
ends  on  to  white  paper. 

Why  he  did  not  know,  but  the  scene  under  the 
tree  came  into  his  mind.  Her  abounding  sense 
of  humour  could  not  resist  the  trick  when  he  was 
making  that  serious,  patternlike  lover's  speech 
which  he  swore  he  would  never  make  again  in 
the  same  way.  She  had  had  the  best  of  many 
jokes  on  him,  whether  the  irresistible  mood  of 
mischief  possessed  her  to  make  a  cartoon  or  to 
draw  him  gazing  lovelorn  into  Henriette's  face. 
For  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  what  she  thought 
must  be  so  palpable — the  true  character  of  that 
"  Yes,"  which  excoriated  her  whenever  she  was 
with  him  alone. 

He  glanced  at  the  drawing  on  the  open  page  at 
his  side,  took  it  up  to  look  at  it  again,  amazed 
afresh  at  its  quality  and  atmospheric  reality,  and 
put  it  down  without  attracting  her  attention.  She 
was  happy;  she  had  succeeded  in  the  one  thing  she 
cared  for.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  there  opposite 
her  in  her  triumph  on  this  September  day,  flying 
past  English  hedges,  thinking  of  many  things, 
including  the  destiny  that  had  sent  him  to  Europe 


HELEN  ARRIVES  257 

on  a  holiday  to  become  a  soldier;  and  it  was  with 
a  touch  of  regret  that  he  noted  a  landmark  which 
told  him  that  the  train  was  drawing  into  Truckle- 
ford.  She  slipped  the  book  back  in  her  bag  and 
the  face  he  saw  was  that  of  the  plain  Helen,  sin 
gularly  dull  and  lifeless  till  she  drew  a  sigh  and 
in  her  eyes  appeared  a  peculiar  light,  as  she  ex 
plained: 

"  Here  we  are  at  last!  " 

Mrs.  Sanford,  as  well  as  the  vicar  and  Hen- 
riette,  was  on  the  platform  to  welcome  him;  but 
Madame  Ribot  had  found  the  weather  quite  too 
warm  for  walking.  Henriette  waved  her  hand  as 
she  smiled  her  welcome  when  the  train  ran  past 
them.  The  vicar  took  Phil's  hand  in  his  and  held 
it  affectionately  in  a  long  clasp;  and  Mrs.  San- 
ford  flushed  when  he  kissed  her. 

"  We  are  very  proud!  "  she  murmured.  "  But 
we  fear  that  we  have  done  wrong  in  not  trying 
to  prevent  it." 

"  But  his  father  said  '  Yes,  by  Jehovah!  '  "  put 
in  the  vicar.  He  did  not  tell  Phil  that  he  was  hav 
ing  that  telegram  framed  to  hang  under  the 
portrait  of  the  ancestor. 

Henriette  and  Helen  were  left  to  follow,  as  the 
vicar  and  his  wife  took  possession  of  Phil. 

"  Oh,  we've  heard  all  about  it  from  Henri 
ette!"  said  Mrs.  Sanford.  "And — and  I  must 
confess  that  what  I  particularly  liked  was  the  way 
that  you  knocked  that  beast  of  a  Prussian  down." 


25 8  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Yes,"  said  the  vicar,  stiffening  out  of  his 
usual  stoop  and  stopping.  "  But  what  was  it? 
I  am  very  curious.  Er — I  boxed  a  little  myself 
when  I  was  young.  Just  a  straight  lead  with  the 
right?" 

"  No,"  said  Phil,  turning  and  holding  up  his 
finger  at  Henriette.  "  I've  a  bone  to  pick  with 
you  for  telling!  " 

"Later!"   she  smiled  back. 

"  If  not  a  straight  lead  with  the  right,  what  was 
it?  "  persisted  the  vicar. 

"An  upper  cut  to  the  jaw!  "  Phil  murmured 
awkwardly. 

"Very  effectual,  always!"  replied  the  vicar. 
"  Now,  he  was  standing  about  like  this,  and  you 
ducked  like  this  to  let  his  blow  by?  " 

"  My  dear,  this  is  positively  shocking!  "  gasped 
his  wife,  mindful  that  they  were  in  the  village 
street  at  the  time. 

"  Then  you  gave  it  to  him  like  this "  and 

there  the  vicar  of  Truckleford  brought  his  fist 
up  in  correct  fashion  and  pressed  it  against 
the  correct  section  of  Phil's  physiognomy. 
"  Exactly!  "  he  concluded,  chuckling.  "  I  remem 
ber  once  I  used  it  in  a  little  row — before  I  had 
taken  orders,  my  dear,  before  I  had  taken 
orders!  " 

When  they  turned  in  at  the  vicarage  gate  they 
found  Madame  Ribot  at  ease  on  a  lawn  chair 
in  the  shade  near  the  tea-table,  looking  as  charm- 


HELEN  ARRIVES  259 

ing  as  usual  and  with  a  novel  on  her  lap  as 
usual. 

"  Now  I  may  thank  you  in  person  for  the  part 
of  a  brave  gentleman  that  you  have  played !  " 
she  said  to  Phil  in  her  delightful  way.  u  And 
you,  my  truant  Helen,  you've  found  time  to  come 
and  see  your  mother,  too,"  she  added,  as  she 
embraced  Helen. 

"But  have  you  seen  this?"  demanded  Phil 
when  all  were  seated  around  the  tea-table.  '  We 
have  a  distinguished  person  with  us.  I  had  the 
honour  of  riding  down  in  the  train  with  her 
from  London — with  none  other  than  that  cele 
brated  artist  who  is  now  sipping  tea  out  of  a  cup 
just  like  any  everyday  person." 

He  held  up  the  double  page  for  all  to  see. 
Helen  continued  to  look  into  her  teacup  as  they 
passed  the  picture  around. 

"  Very  timely!  Just  what  the  editors  wanted," 
said  Henriette.  "  I'm  so  glad,  Helen!" 

Madame  Ribot  seemed  most  surprised  of  all 
at  the  actuality  of  the  thing.  She  drew  a  long 
breath  of  realising  satisfaction. 

"  And  you  did  this  in  the  midst  of  all  that  shell- 
fire,  you  poor  dear — I  mean "  exclaimed 

Mrs.  Sanford. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  being  called  poor  dear!  " 
said  Helen  in  a  soft,  impersonal  way.  "  What 
a  bad-tempered  person  I  have  been!  "  she  added. 

The  vicar  rose  from  his  chair  and  went  over 


260  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

to  Helen,  taking  her  hand  in  his  and  patting  her 
on  the  head.  In  his  heart  he  had  ever  been  as 
fond  of  Helen  as  had  General  Rousseau,  though 
fondness  for  Helen  was  not  the  fashion  among 
the  friends  of  the  Ribots.  A  little  success  had 
made  her  almost  important. 

"  And  the  shell  that  hit  between  us,  did  you 
hear  about  that?  "  Phil  went  on. 

"  No,"  said  the  vicar.  "  Henriette  didn't  men 
tion  that.  What  about  it?  We  heard  how  Helen 
fainted  when  she  saw  the  wounded  soldier." 

"  No  fainting  this  time — a  coal  box,  bang  in 
our  faces!  I  thought  that  our  artist  was  gone 
forever." 

"  If  you  keep  this  up,"  said  Helen,  "  you  will 
make  people  think  that  it  was  I  who  was  the 
hero  of  the  movies  and  knocked  the  villain  down; 
and  in  that  event  I  shall  have  to  publish  the  car 
toon  of  you  doing  it  as  documentary  evidence 
to  the  contrary.  Beware  of  the  power  of  the 
press !  " 

He  had  won  one  of  her  laughs  and  a  full  tilt 
of  challenge  from  her  eyes. 

"  And  who  cried  good  and  clapped  her  hand?  " 
he  asked. 

"  The  assembled  hero-worshipping  multitude !  " 
she  replied. 

For  the  moment  in  their  banter  they  had  taken 
possession  of  the  conversation.  Suddenly  Helen 
realised  it.  She  had  been  teased  and  she  was 


HELEN  ARRIVES  261 

giving  him  as  good  as  he  sent.  The  smile  died 
on  her  lips;  the  flame  out  of  her  eyes.  She  was 
plain  Helen  drinking  tea  in  silence  and  wishing 
that  she  was  not  there.  When  her  mother  made 
some  remark,  she  slipped  away  into  the  house 
and  out  by  a  side  entrance  into  the  lane,  glad 
to  be  alone. 

It  had  all  passed  by  the  ears  of  the  vicar  and 
his  wife  as  young  people's  nonsense,  pleasant  to 
hear.  These  two  could  think  of  only  one  thing: 
the  fact  of  Phil's  presence;  the  fact  that  there 
was  a  Sanford  to  fight  for  the  cause. 

As  he  turned  to  Henriette,  Madame  Ribot  was 
watching,  while  pretending  to  look  at  the  pictures 
in  the  weekly.  She  wanted  to  know  the  effect  of 
the  ten  days  which  they  had  spent  at  the  chateau 
together.  Scarcely  perceptible  the  set  frown  on 
her  brow,  which  was  only  erased  when  an  auto 
mobile  stopped  at  the  gate.  Madame  Ribot 
liked  the  low  purring  of  costly  motors.  It  was  as 
rich  and  delectable  to  her  as  the  rustling  of  silk. 

The  Marquis  of  Truckleford  had  come  to  see 
the  vicar  about  Belgian  refugee  plans  and  other 
war  work,  which,  for  the  first  time  in  weeks,  had 
not  been  the  principal  topic  of  conversation  at 
the  vicarage  tea-table.  Phil  was  not  used  to 
meeting  marquises;  few  work  on  construction 
gangs  in  the  Southwest  or  are  seen  in  New  Eng 
land  villages.  He  did  not  know  how  you  "  My 
Lorded  "  or  "  Your  Graced  "  them,  or  whatever 


262  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

it  was,  or  how  often;  but  he  talked  to  the  Marquis 
without  self-consciousness,  just  as  he  would  to 
any  other  human  being,  and  the  results  seemed 
quite  satisfactory.  The  Marquis  inquired  about 
the  identity  of  the  general  whom  Phil  had  seen 
at  the  War  Office. 

"So  Duggy  made  you  a  second  lieutenant!" 
said  the  Marquis.  "  Sound  chap !  So,  so !  I'll 
write  a  letter  about  you  to  Starrow,  who  is  a  peg 
above  Duggy.  Must  say  I  liked  the  way  that  you 
knocked  that  Hun  down.  The  vicar  and  I  were 
puzzled.  What  was  it,  a  straight  lead  with  the 
right?" 

"  No,  an  upper  cut,  like  this!  "  interrupted  the 
vicar,  giving  another  exhibition  of  how  it  was 
done. 

"  Just  as  I  said  from  the  start !  "  declared  His 
Lordship.  "  Pleased  the  old  chap  in  the  frame 
in  the  dining-room,  wouldn't  it?  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HENRIETTE  WAITS 

A    dinner  Phil  was  seated  again  under  the 
English  ancestor,  only  to  find  that  this  did 
not  mean  an  escape  from  ancestors,  as  he 
was  facing  the  American.     The  vicar  had  had 
the  photograph  of  the  statue  at  Longfield  framed, 
and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  the  man  of 
Massachusetts  seeking  the  blood  of  British  red 
coats  was  charging  toward  the  man  of  Hamp 
shire,  who,  with  uptilted  chin,  was  defying  all 
comers. 

"  At  breakfast  some  morning  you  may  find  the 
table  overturned,  chairs  broken  and  the  dining- 
room  all  gory,"  Phil  said. 

"Really!"  gasped  Mrs.  Sanford.  She  was 
so  serious  about  the  ancestors  that  at  first  she 
took  him  literally. 

"  The  American  is  better  dressed  for  such  an 
affair,"  Phil  continued,  "  but  I  fancy  that  the 
Briton  did  his  fighting  in  shirt-sleeves,  too.  He 
was  in  that  ornate  get-up  only  when  he  posed 
for  his  portrait." 

'  They  would  both  be  in  shirt-sleeves  for  this 
cause!  "  declared  the  vicar. 

263 


264  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Yes,  and  perhaps  for  the  cause  for  which  the 
American  fought,  too,"  Phil  suggested. 

"Very  likely.  I  am  proud  of  them  both!" 
said  the  vicar. 

But  he  and  Mrs.  Sanford  were  proudest  of  the 
living  Sanford  who  was  going  to  fight  in  the 
cause  of  the  moment.  The  hour  was  the  living 
hour  of  blows.  Here  was  one  who  was  about  to 
strike  a  blow  for  a  childless  pair,  who  had  never 
so  much  wanted  a  son  as  then  in  order  that  they 
might  give  him  for  their  country.  A  son  of  their 
blood  had  come  to  them,  now.  They  wanted  to 
know  more  about  him,  his  boyhood,  his  school 
days,  and  the  campaigns  of  the  revolutionary 
ancestor — everything  that  put  links  in  the  chain 
of  inheritance.  Phil  complied  when  he  realised 
the  genuineness  of  their  interest,  but  found  him 
self  stumbling  in  details. 

"  Father  knows  everything  he  did,"  he  said. 
"  In  fact,  we  have  his  diary;  but  I  confess " 

"  Too  much  ancestor!  "  put  in  Helen. 

It  was  the  first  that  she  had  spoken,  and  even 
this  exclamation  was  casual  and  disinterested. 
Seated  across  from  him  as  she  had  been  at  the 
first  dinner,  her  plain  part  in  her  plain  gown  was 
much  the  same  as  then,  only  she  was  more  sub 
dued.  Henriette  was  by  his  side,  in  the  same  part 
of  beautiful  woman  and  beautiful  gown.  She 
added  her  questions  to  the  vicar's.  Madame 
Ribot's  only  question  was  about  Peter  Smithers. 


HENRIETTE  WAITS  265 

"  We  must  get  him  to  Europe,"  she  said,  when 
the  vicar  and  Mrs.  Sanford  were  declaring  that 
now  Phil's  father  and  mother  would  surely  come 
to  England  on  their  long-promised  visit. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  Peter  in  Europe,"  said 
Phil. 

"  So  should  I !  "  declared  Helen  irresistibly. 
"  I  should  like  to  have  seen  him  having  a  set-to 
with  von  Stein." 

What  a  cartoon!  A  whole  series  of  Peter 
Smithers  in  moods  of  rage  and  humility;  Peter 
shaking  his  first;  Peter  threatened  with  firing 
squads  and  blank  walls;  Peter  and  old  von  Stein 
— there  you  had  a  contrast!  Her  eyes  were  danc 
ing;  she  was  laughing  to  herself  as  the  pictures 
flitted  before  her  vision,  only  to  bite  her  lip  when 
she  noticed  her  mother's  stare  and  lapse  into  the 
marking-time  attitude  which  she  had  planned  to 
take  her  through  the  meal. 

'  Yes,  of  course  we  must  invite  Peter,"  said 
Madame  Ribot.  "  Do  write  to  Dr.  Sanford 
about  it." 

"  Do,  please !  "  chimed  in  Henriette. 

The  vicar  was  looking  to  Phil  for  his  lead  in  the 
matter. 

"  By  all  means!  "  he  said. 

Just  then  his  glance  happened  to  meet  Helen's, 
and  hers  seemed  to  convey  a  repressed  irony, 
which  melted  into  that  blankness  of  expression 
with  its  self-effacement  that  always  puzzled  him. 


zC3  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Alv/ays  the  artist — always  changing,  he  thought, 
while   Henriette's  charm  was  unvarying. 

"And  you  will  stay  on  here?"  he  said  to 
Henriette. 

"  No.  I,  too,  am  going  to  do  my  bit,"  she 
replied. 

She  was  to  take  a  course  in  nursing  and  go  to 
France  with  Lady  Truckleford's  hospital  unit. 

"  You  were  so  good  at  binding  up  the  wounded 
soldier's  arm  in  the  gully  that  I  foresee  a  great 
success,"  said  Phil. 

She  flushed  slightly,  averting  her  glance.  Al 
ways  her  blushes  were  accompanied  by  the  ap 
propriate  manner  and  gesture.  When  she  looked 
back  at  him  her  face  was  in  repose,  her  lips  parted 
faintly,  her  eyes  deep  wells  of  grateful  recollec 
tion — the  Henriette  whom  he  had  carried  from 
the  roadside  to  the  gully. 

"  We  shall  both  be  in  France,"  she  said;  "  you 
fighting  and  I  nursing — both  doing  our  bit." 

In  that  deliciously  pregnant  second  before  she 
took  a  last  sip  of  coffee  her  smile  implied  more 
than  her  words. 

When  they  went  out  on  the  lawn  Madame  Ribot 
asked  Helen  to  fetch  a  shawl,  and  after  she  had 
placed  its  silken  folds  around  her  mother's  shoul 
ders  she  slipped  away  into  the  darkness,  the  others 
in  their  preoccupation  not  missing  her.  Madame 
Ribot  at  ease  in  a  long  chair,  the  others  walked 
up  and  down  until  again  came  a  motor's  purr  to 


HENRIETTE  WAITS  267 

the  gateway  and  Lady  Truckleford  appeared  to 
talk  of  war  relief.  She  was  bubblingly  talkative, 
was  Lady  Truckleford,  delightfully  fussed  over 
her  hospital  project,  and  demonstrative  over 
Henriette,  who  seemed  to  have  won  her  affec 
tions  completely.  It  was  quite  late  when  she  de 
parted. 

"  We'll  renew  that  walk  to-morrow,  shall  we?  " 
Henriette  said  to  Phil  as  they  parted  on  the  stairs. 
While  she  was  undressing  her  mother  came  into 
the  room. 

'  You  were  very  beautiful  to-night,  dearie," 
said  Madame  Ribot,  taking  her  daughter's  hands 
in  hers.  u  And  it's  settled  between  you  and 
Cousin  Phil?" 

Henriette  smiled. 

"  That  means  that  it  is?  " 

Again  Henriette  smiled,  in  a  confident  way. 

"It  is!"  said  Madame  Ribot.     "Well " 

and  she  kissed  Henriette  good-night,  closing  the 
scene  without  further  inquiry,  as  became  a  wise 
woman  who  knew  or  thought  she  knew  her  daugh 
ter.  "  It's  splendid  about  Helen,"  she  added, 
pausing  in  the  doorway. 

"Very!"  Henriette  replied.  "Yes,  she's 
found  her  place  drawing  for  the  press." 

Helen,  who  had  thought  that  she  had  conquered 
happiness,  was  far  from  it.  She  had  cried  out  to 
hej  mirror:  "Oh,  if  it  weren't  for  that  nose  I 
wouldn't  be  such  a  fright !  "  only  to  call  herself  a 


268  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

fool.  The  result  of  her  conflicting  emotions  was 
to  hurry  downstairs  and  look  up  the  railroad  time 
tables.  Then  she  went  to  her  mother's  room,  a 
pale,  distrait  figure  of  impatience,  with  face 
drawn. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  the  seven-o'clock  train  in 
the  morning,"  she  said.  "  It's  my  work,  you 
see." 

She  had  come  quite  close  to  her  mother's  side 
so  abruptly  that  it  was  disturbing  to  her  mother's 
composure. 

"  You  know  best  about  that,"  said  Madame 
Ribot,  looking  up  at  Helen's  features  with  a  re 
turn  of  the  old  wonder  that  Helen  should  be  her 
child. 

"  Please  explain  and  say  good-bye  to  the  others, 
won't  you?  " 

"  Yes.  And,  Helen,  it's  all  settled  between 
Henriette  and  Cousin  Phil,  isn't  it?" 

"  If  she  wishes." 

"  If  she  wishes !  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 
Madame  Ribot  had  turned  in  her  chair  with  a 
penetrating  glance  from  her  little  eyes. 

"  Why,  what  I  say.  But  I  don't  know.  I " 

Helen  wavered. 

"  You  were  with  them  all  the  time  at  the 
chateau?  " 

"  Yes.  If  she  wishes,"  was  all  that  Helen 
could  say,  her  voice  crackling  in  its  dryness. 

"  That  she  has  not  wished  it  on  other  occa- 


HENRIETTE  WAITS  269 

sions.  I  see !  "  murmured  Madame  Ribot.  "  She 
does  this  time." 

"  Good-bye !  " 

"  Good-bye  !  You've  done  wonderfully,  Helen. 
Of  course,  it  is  better  than  nursing  if  you  continue 
to  make  it  go.  You  see,  I  was  anxious  about  you 
if  anything  happened  to  me." 

"  And  I've  been  very  trying  sometimes.  I'm 
sorry !  " 

There  was  something  whose  place  even  suc 
cessful  drawings  for  the  press  could  not  supply 
— affection.  Helen  was  singularly  hungry  for  it 
to-night. 

"  Of  course  you  will  write  us  and  come  down 
to  see  us !  "  said  Madame  Ribot. 

"  Of  course!  "  Helen  repeated. 

She  wished  to  be  taken  into  her  mother's  arms, 
but  it  did  not  happen.  And  she  was  glad  when 
the  dawn,  which  found  her  awake,  came  and  she 
softly  glided  downstairs  on  her  way  to  the  station. 

Peter  Smithers  on  his  "  little  farm  "  in  Massa 
chusetts,  walking  about  and  surveying  the  latest 
improvements  and  his  high-bred  cattle  and  swine, 
was  hardly  conscious  that  a  woman  leisurely  un 
doing  her  hair  in  a  vicarage  in  Truckleford  was 
thinking  of  him.  He  had  a  fortune,  poor  man; 
and  he  was  not  unused  to  being  the  object  of 
plo'ts  as  the  result  of  its  possession.  In  her  day 
Madame  Ribot  had  been  as  fond  of  spinning 


270  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

webs  of  intrigue  as  she  had  of  late  the  threads 
of  recollection  which  had  helped  to  pass  the  time. 

"  Phil  will  come  out  of  this  war  with  European 
habits  formed,"  she  thought.  "  His  Longfield 
will  seem  very  tame  to  him,  then.  He  may  win 
distinction — but  his  family  is  enough.  The  one 
other  thing  needful  " — it  was  the  thing  that  Peter 
Smithers  had.  As  a  loving  and  dutiful  mother 
her  part  was  clear.  "  Peter  Smithers  must  be 

brought  to  Europe;  and  then  I "  Madame 

Ribot  smiled  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  conscious 
that  a  long  lapse  of  inaction  need  not  necessarily 
have  weakened  her  powers.  She  could  already 
hear  the  soft  purr  of  Peter  Smithers's  powerful 
car  at  the  gate. 

Nor  did  Peter,  looking  through  the  hothouses 
of  that  miserable  little  farm  of  his,  know  that  the 
two  white  heads  of  an  English  vicar  and  his  wife 
were  thinking  of  him. 

"  That  ten  days  in  the  chateau  seem  to  have  had 
one  result,  unless  my  eyes  deceive  me,"  said  the 
vicar  in  a  half-whisper,  as  if  the  secret  held  back 
for  this  family  conclave  might  be  overheard  by 
the  walls. 

"  You  saw  it,  too?  "  said  Mrs.  Sanford.  "  Of 
course,  as  a  woman  I  saw  it  at  once.  And, 
Franklin,  don't  forget  about  inviting  Peter 
Smithers.  Hasn't  it  all  turned  out  wonderfully! 
And  Helen,  too!  " 

"Oh,  it's  ripping  about  Helen,  ripping!"  ex- 


HENRIETTE  WAITS  271 

claimed  the  vicar.  "  That  little  warrior !  I  al 
ways  believed  in  her." 

"  But  her  mother  did  seem  to  me  anything  but 
appreciative." 

"  She  never  is,  except  when  she  is  ordering 
people  about." 

"  Yes,  so  I've  found!  "  assented  Mrs.  Sanford. 

"  And  you  have  done  your  best  to  make  her 
happy  in  that  respect,"  said  the  vicar. 

"  It's  the  easiest  way,  my  dear,  and  she  is  our 
guest." 

The  next  day  the  two  did  not  allow  any  inter 
ruption  from  them  to  interfere  with  Henriette's 
walk  with  Phil,  but  rather  gave  their  blessing  of 
smiles.  Henriette  set  the  direction,  which  was 
to  the  same  hill  as  before;  and  the  quiet  scene  of 
Hampshire  valleys  in  September  had  an  appeal 
to  him  that  it  had  not  had  before  the  war.  For 
a  remote  ancestor  of  his  had  fought  for  this  as 
the  later  one  had  fought  for  his  New  England 
valleys. 

"  I  feel  the  call  of  both  this  and  France,"  said 
Henriette.  "  How  can  one  think  of  painting!  " 
Indeed,  the  portrait  lay  with  its  back  against  the 
wall  at  Mervaux.  She  had  forgotten  to  bring  it 
and  had  never  been  more  dissatisfied  with  any 
thing  that  she  had  done. 

The  spell  of  the  art  in  which  she  really  excelled 
was  upon  Phil;  a  deeper  one  than  ever,  owing 
to  her  more  serious  mood  and  the  serious  busi- 


272  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

ness  before  him,  and  it  grew  all  the  way  from 
valley  to  hilltop  and  afterward  in  the  leisurely 
descent.  He  spoke  of  his  fortune.  All  he  had 
was  his  pay  as  a  second  lieutenant. 

"  You  have  fortune  enough,"  she  said,  pausing 
and  giving  him  a  long,  full  glance;  "  the  fortune 
of  war!  It  is  the  same  that  it  always  has  been. 
The  man  goes  away  to  fight!  " 

"  And  the  woman  waits!  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  she  waits!"  she  replied.  Her  smile 
was  gentle  and  wonderful.  "  Isn't  that  enough?  " 
she  asked,  giving  him  her  hand  in  a  prolonged 
clasp  and  then  turning  her  cheek  for  the  pressure 
of  his  lips. 

"  Quite !  "  he  agreed. 

She  liked  the  way  of  it  much  better  than  a 
speech  in  the  moonlight.  Anything  but  that ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A    DIRECT    HIT 

THE  letter  which  the  Marquis  of  Truckle- 
ford  wrote  to  the  general  who  was  a  peg 
above  "  Duggy  "  gave  Phil  an  early  intro 
duction  to  Flanders  mud.  An  upstanding  man  the 
major  to  whom  he  reported.  Fresh  from  the  re 
treat  of  Mons  and  the  fighting  on  the  Aisne,  he 
had  been  brought  home  to  mould  human  clay  into 
gunners.  Then  there  was  Jaffers,  the  regular 
sergeant,  who  regarded  all  recruits  as  children 
of  his  strict  parenthood.  Treating  fledgling 
young  officers  with  the  respect  due  to  their  rank, 
he  would  whisper  to  them  the  right  thing  to  do,  the 
while  he  stood  stiff  at  the  salute. 

"  They  will  learn  fast  under  fire,"  said  Jaffers. 
"  It's  the  blooming  Boche  shells  that'll  teach  them 
to  be  quick  about  their  lessons!  " 

By  the  hundred  of  thousands  untrained  men 
were  drilling  and  waiting  for  uniforms  and  rifles. 
Every  time  that  a  gun  was  finished  or  a  shell 
came  out  of  the  shops,  a  thousand  hungry  hands 
seemed  to  reach  across  the  Channel  for  it.  Phil 
became  one  of  a  myriad  of  units  in  a  tiny  orbit; 
a  cog  in  one  of  the  many  little  organisations 

273 


274  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

which  were  to  be  assembled  into  a  whole.  His 
technical  training  stood  him  in  good  stead.  At 
first,  the  battery  drilled  with  heirlooms  of  the 
Victorian  epoch,  which  might  be  useful  for  home 
defence  against  a  bow-and-arrow  invasion. 

Then,  one  day  somebody  in  the  War  Office 
signed  a  paper  which  meant  that  four  tubes  of 
steel  were  to  give  all  the  horse-drill  and  men-drill 
of  Phil's  battery  a  proud  reality.  New  four-inch 
howitzers  could  not  be  kept  long  away  from 
France  in  those  days.  They  were  needed  in  the 
Ypres  salient,  where  the  British  were  holding  on 
by  their  teeth  with  their  faces  to  the  Germans 
and  their  backs  to  Calais. 

Phil's  letters  about  his  daily  existence  ought  to 
have  cured  an  old  pair  in  Longfield  of  any  idea 
that  he  was  fighting  the  whole  war  himself  ac 
cording  to  the  methods  of  the  revolutionary 
ancestor;  though  his  mother  to  this  day  has  never 
been  convinced  to  the  contrary.  "  Mud — and 
shells  at  the  Germans  and  from  the  Germans; 
and  more  mud,  a  great  deal  more  mud,  and  more 
shells  at  the  Germans  and  more  from  the  Ger 
mans,"  was  the  way  that  he  described  it.  "  I 
know  that  I  shall  never  choose  to  spend  a  winter 
holiday  in  Flanders  after  the  war  is  over,"  he 
said. 

The  business  of  the  gunners  was  to  hide  their 
"  hows  "  from  prying  German  eyes  by  land  and 
air  and  on  telephone  summons  to  pump  destruc- 


A  DIRECT  HIT  275 

tion  at  some  unseen  point  on  the  map,  according  to 
tabular  calculations.  At  other  times  they  might 
walk  about  in  the  mud  or  sit  in  the  mud  inside 
their  dug-outs.  It  was  enough  to  make  a  bold 
knight  of  olden  story,  who  carried  a  Toledo  or  a 
Damascus  blade,  fall  in  a  fit,  as  Phil  remarked. 
Should  the  Germans  locate  them,  a  tornado  of 
"  krumps  "  descended  on  their  position  and  they 
sat  in  the  dug-outs  considering  whether  or  not 
everybody  there  would  be  "  done  in,"  as  the 
English  say,  by  a  direct  hit. 

Then  they  moved  to  another  place  through  the 
mud  and  built  more  dug-outs  in  the  mud  and  began 
the  daily  grind  over  again,  the  vacancies  caused  by 
casualties  being  filled  by  recruits.  But  they  had 
intervals  in  billets,  where  they  crowded  together 
in  peasants'  houses  out  of  the  zone  of  shell-fire, 
and  smoked  and  read  and  waited  for  the  mail, 
and  expatiated  on  how  it  would  seem  to  have  a 
real  bath  in  a  real  tub  in  a  land  where  there  was  no 
mud. 

Spring  did  come,  though  there  were  soldiers  in 
the  British  army  who  thought  that  it  never  would. 
They  could  not  comprehend  how  anything  so 
pleasant  could  ever  happen  in  war  time  in  Flan 
ders.  It  found  Phil  with  a  bit  of  white  and  blue 
ribbon  on  his  blouse,  which  had  been  given  for 
what  other  people,  including  a  division  com 
mander,  said  was  a  gallant  deed  showing  excep 
tional  initiative.  He  was  willing  to  accept  their 


276  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

view  as  official,  though  he  could  not  honestly 
agree  with  it.  However,  it  was  the  source  of 
enormous  happiness  in  Longfield  and  Truckle- 
ford. 

Once  he  had  been  back  at  Truckleford  on 
leave  for  a  week;  and,  after  the  mud,  he  did 
not  mind  if  the  vicar  and  Mrs.  Sanford  made  as 
much  fuss  over  him  as  if  he  were  a  real  hero. 
Madame  Ribot  had  returned  to  Paris.  He  had 
seen  neither  Henriette  nor  Helen,  though  Henri- 
ette  wrote  to  him  regularly.  She  was  at  one  of 
the  hospital  bases  not  more  than  three  hours' 
motor  ride  away;  but  if  he  had  had  ten  motors 
he  could  not  have  gone  to  see  her.  Each  tiny 
cog  of  the  machine  must  keep  in  its  place.  None 
may  go  moving  about  at  will. 

He  came  to  watch  for  Henriette's  handwriting 
and  the  postmarks  of  Longfield  as  the  two  links 
with  the  world;  and  Truckleford  had  also  become 
a  part  of  his  existence.  Henriette  seemed  the 
adjutant  of  Lady  Truckleford,  devoted  to  her 
work.  Her  letters  ever  revived  the  thousand 
pictures  of  her  from  Truckleford  to  Mervaux 
and  back  again  and  the  spirit  of  them  was 
expressed  in  the  words :  "  The  woman  waits 
while  the  man  goes  out  to  fight."  Her  ref 
erences  to  Helen,  who  seemed  to  be  at  the  same 
base  but  with  another  unit,  were  the  only  news 
he  had  of  the  other  cousin  except  her  drawings, 
which  continued  to  appear  in  the  weeklies. 


A  DIRECT  HIT  277 

Helen,  Henriette  said,  was  still  trying  to  get 
used  to  the  sight  of  blood. 

People  were  coming  to  know  Helen's  name. 
Phil  wrote  to  her  in  congratulation  and  the  answer 
he  received  hardly  invited  further  correspondence. 
It  was  unlike  her,  uncousinly,  and  it  troubled  him. 
She  was  very  busy  and  very  happy.  She  made  a 
point  of  that — very  happy.  New  memories  of 
Mervaux  occurred  to  him  with  the  peculiar  dis 
tinctness  of  details  appearing,  after  what  seemed  a 
long  lapse  of  time,  with  the  freshness  of  sudden 
discovery  in  some  recess  of  the  mind.  He  was 
thinking  that  he  should  not  mind  sitting  again  for 
his  portrait  on  the  terrace,  with  Henriette  smiling 
at  her  easel  and  Helen  laughing  over  her  cartoons 
of  his  proud  career. 

Spring  not  only  came  to  Flanders,  but  the  mud 
dried;  the  fields  were  carpeted  with  the  tender 
green  of  young  grain,  and  the  canopies  of  foliage 
gave  better  cover  for  the  "hows."  Green,  yes,  but 
flat  that  vista  from  the  gun-positions,  while  the 
graceful  slopes  of  the  Berkshires  might  be  drip 
ping  and  glistening  as  they  had  on  the  afternoon 
that  he  returned  from  the  Southwest.  Bill  Hurley 
was  at  his  accustomed  place  on  the  station  plat 
form,  no  doubt;  Hanks,  the  druggist,  was  still 
branching  out,  no  doubt.  But  Truckleford  had 
the  greater  call  of  the  two  for  him  that  day;  for 
he  had  .received  a  letter  that  his  father  and  mother 
had  at  last  undertaken  their  pilgrimage  and  had 


278  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

arrived  at  the  vicarage,  where  they  were  waiting 
until  he  had  another  week's  leave. 

Another  bit  of  news,  too.  Peter  Smithers,  with 
out  any  warning  to  the  War  Lord,  was  about  to 
visit  Europe  to  see  things  for  himself.  Peter's 
only  expressed  view  of  Phil's  action  in  going  to 
war  had  been: 

"  About  what  you  would  expect.  I  gave  him  up 
long  ago.  So  Ledyard's  keeping  the  job  for  him 
— hm-m-m!  Well,  Ledyard's  business  isn't  the 
sport  of  a  lot  of  jockeying  politicians." 

Sometimes  Phil  had  thought  what  if  a  shell 
should  take  off  an  arm  or  a  leg,  or  otherwise-maim 
him  for  life.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  others 
had  thought  the  same.  The  merciful  bullet 
through  the  heart  or  the  wound  that  heals  leaving 
one  whole — these  are  a  part  of  the  game.  But 
that  jagged,  tearing  piece  of  shell-fragment — this 
was  the  devil  of  the  new  psychology  of  war. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning  that  he  went  up  to 
the  trench  to  take  his  turn  at  observation.  The  sun 
made  the  wings  of  the  planes  overhead  shimmer 
with  silver  and  gold  under  a  fleckless  sky.  The 
birds  were  singing  their  song  in  the  midst  of  the 
song  of  bullets.  It  hardly  seemed  possible  that 
death  could  lurk  in  the  soft  puffs  of  shrapnel 
smoke  playing  around  the  planes.  Death  should 
have  no  part  in  such  a  day.  It  was  a  day  of 
life.  Soft  air  to  breathe,  gentle  breezes,  kindly 
sunshine,  and  youth.  Phil  enjoyed  the  fact  of 


A  DIRECT  HIT  279 

existence  as  some  superb  privilege  which  deserved 
gratitude  to  earth  and  sky,  and  particularly  to  the 
sky,  which  was  all  that  he  could  see  as  he  entered 
the  winding  communication  trench. 

"  Good-morning!  " 

The  cheery  greetings  were  exchanged  between 
fellow-officers  as  if  the  game  were  not  with  death, 
but  with  racquets  on  an  English  lawn. 

"They  are  strafing  a  bit  up  there,"  said  one; 
which  meant  that  there  was  some  shelling  in  the 
front  line,  where  little  mirrors  were  set  up  on 
parapets  of  sandbags.  Through  these  bits  of 
glass  you  could  look  out  on  a  field  of  weeds 
across  to  another  line  of  sandbags,  Britain  bur 
rowing  on  one  side  and  Germany  on  the  other  of 
No  Man's  Land.  Phil  took  the  place  of  another 
lieutenant  at  the  O.  P.,  or  Observation  Post. 
Here  he  was  in  touch  by  telephone  with  his  bat 
tery.  He  watched  black  bursts  of  smoke,  which 
were  the  shells  from  its  guns,  and  reported  their 
proximity  to  the  target.  It  was  a  matter  of  eye 
sight  and  judgment  and  speaking  into  a  black  disk 
— nothing  dramatic  about  it. 

Since  he  was  at  Mervaux  he  had  learned  much 
about  those  bursts  of  black  smoke.  He  had  seen 
many  men  knocked  over  by  them.  One  monster 
had  come  even  closer  to  him  than  the  shell  which 
had  exploded  between  him  and  Helen,  and  on 
that  occasion  he  had  been  dug  out  from  under  a 
tumbled  parapet  with  a  spade.  When  the  Ger- 


280  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

mans  increased  their  shell-fire  on  any  section  of 
the  British  trenches,  the  British  increased  theirs 
on  the  Germans;  then,  in  turn,  the  Germans  in 
creased  theirs  and  the  British  increased  theirs. 
Thus  it  happened  on  this  particular  morning,  per 
haps  because  the  light  was  good  for  artillery  ob 
servation.  He  was  not  looking  to  see  what  the 
German  shells  did  to  the  British  trench,  but  what 
his  shells  were  doing  to  the  German  trench! 
"  Right  on!  "  He  had  announced  the  result  of 
a  shot  when  he  heard  the  hurtling,  growing  scream 
of  a  nine-inch  coming  straight  toward  him. 

After  that  the  end  of  all  sensation;  oblivion, 
which  had  come  to  many  another  man  from  the 
burst  of  a  nine-inch  whether  or  not  he  ever  awoke 
to  life  in  this  world. 

After  he  knew  not  how  long  Phil  felt  some 
one  pulling  at  his  body,  which  seemed  to  rest 
under  a  great  weight.  This  was  all,  and  this  only 
for  a  fleeting  moment;  he  was  uncertain  whether 
he  was  in  this  world  or  the  other.  Then  he  was 
bumped  against  something  and  felt  his  hand  brush 
the  hard  earth.  Vaguely  he  reasoned  that 
stretcher-bearers  were  carrying  him  around  the 
traverse  of  a  trench.  A  hot,  moist  sponge  seemed 
pressed  into  his  throat  and  something  besides  air 
was  coming  into  his  lungs  and  he  was  trying  to 
cough  it  out.  Utter  darkness  encompassed  him 
and  there  was  no  sound. 

All  volition,  all  muscular  and  nerve-initiative 


A  DIRECT  HIT  281 

had  been  beaten  out  of  him.  He  could  only  try  to 
breathe  through  that  hot  sponge  and  to  keep  that 
other  trickling  thing  out  of  his  lungs.  It  was  not 
his  mind  that  made  this  effort;  only  a  body  de 
tached  from  his  mind,  acting  involuntarily  like  the 
flouncing  of  a  fish  out  of  water.  He  lost  con 
sciousness  again  before  he  realised  where  he  was 
hit;  and  the  litter-bearers  bore  him  on  to  the 
casualty  clearing  station.  They  did  not  know 
whether  or  not  he  was  dead.  Sometimes  cases  like 
that  were  and  sometimes  they  were  not  when  they 
reached  the  station. 

"  Better  be,  though,"  said  the  one  who  had  the 
rear  handles  of  the  stretcher. 

"  Yes.    I'd  want  to  be,"  said  the  man  in  front. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  SMILING  HELEN 

THE  War  Office  must  foresee  everything; 
that  men  must  be  drilled  before  they  know 
how  to  fight  and  that  when  they  fight  some 
will  be  wounded.     There  must  be  experts  in  sal 
vage  as  well  as  in  preparation;  depots  to  mend 
broken     parts     in     the     immense,     complicated 
machine. 

On  a  hillside  where  they  would  miss  none  of  the 
rare  winter  sunshine,  the  summer  breezes,  or  the 
tonic  of  fresh  spring  air,  rows  of  long,  green 
barracks  had  risen.  Gravelled  paths  connected 
them  between  stretches  of  transplanted  sod  and 
geranium  beds.  Women  in  nurses'  uniforms,  and 
surgeons  twiddling  stethoscopes,  and  hospital 
corps  attendants  bearing  trays  of  food,  went  along 
the  paths.  Sometimes  the  surgeons  stopped  to 
talk  about  this  or  that  case,  in  their  professional 
jargon.  Some  were  youngsters  who  had  not  yet 
begun  practice;  others  of  the  old  regular  service 
had  looked  after  the  health  of  Mr.  Thomas  At 
kins  in  India  and  out-of-the-way  places,  where  flies 
and  mosquitoes  are  busy  in  tropical  heat  with  their 
wicked  occupations;  and  still  others  were  grey- 

sts 


A  SMILING  HELEN  283 

haired,  eminent  specialists  from  London  used  to 
receive  fees  that  gave  the  youngsters  a  giddy  feel 
ing,  but  now  working  for  a  lieutenant's  pay.  All 
the  talent  and  skill  of  the  medical  and  surgical 
world  were  at  the  service  of  this  repair  shop  of 
damaged  men. 

Indoors  the  X-ray  "  sharp  "  was  always  busy 
locating  bits  of  steel  as  black  points  on  hazy  photo 
graphs;  still  forms  were  wheeled  into  the  operat 
ing-room  so  softly  that  it  seemed  as  simple  a  busi 
ness  as  slipping  a  paper  into  a  drawer;  the  beds  in 
the  wards  were  in  rows  between  a  broad  aisle, 
with  screens  moved  here  and  there  by  the  noiseless 
sleight-of-hand  of  nurses  trained  to  their  part  no 
less  than  infantry  in  the  use  of  the  bayonet. 

One  of  the  nurse's  duties  is  to  smile.  However 
tired  she  is  she  must  smile,  just  as  a  soldier  must 
salute  and  obey  orders  with  alacrity.  A  smile 
in  passing  for  the  fellow  with  one  eye  showing 
through  a  swathe  of  bandages,  for  him  with 
splinted  legs  held  fast  by  weights,  or  the  one 
dreamily  convalescent,  and  particularly  for  the 
one  quivering  with  pain.  The  man  who  awakes 
from  a  sweet  sleep  or  the  one  who  has  been  in  a 
nightmare  with  a  dozen  machine-guns  playing  on 
him  and  bombs  bursting  all  around,  is  greeted  by 
a  smile  as  he  returns  to  the  world  of  reality. 

The  nurse  has  life,  strength,  tenderness  in  her 
facile,  confident  attention  to  those  who  are  with 
out  strength  and  dependent  as  children.  She 


284  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

makes  each  patient  feel  that  he  is  the  only  one  in 
the  world,  which  is  the  way  that  patients  like  to 
feel.  All  the  nurses  without  exception  seemed 
good-looking,  even  the  plain  ones  when  you  looked 
into  their  kindly  eyes  as  they  turned  toward  you. 

The  sometime  tempery  and  the  sometime 
morbid  Helen  was  always  smiling  these  days; 
smiling  from  the  depths  of  her  fine  eyes  as  well 
as  with  her  lips.  Her  personality  glowed  with 
opportunity  and  grew  with  it.  Every  day  she 
worked  so  long  and  hard  that  when  night  came 
she  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  her  head  was  on  the 
pillow.  This  was  good,  too,  as  it  prevented  any 
fiends  of  melancholy  from  tugging  at  her  heart. 

It  is  not  only  surgery  and  medicines  and  leaving 
nature  to  do  the  rest,  as  the  grey-haired  specialists 
knew,  which  brings  recovery;  it  is  also  the  desire 
to  live  which  surroundings  may  induce.  There  are 
perfectly  good  nurses  with  perfectly  good  smiles 
who  do  everything  required  of  them,  not  to  say 
that  there  are  slack  nurses  and  possibly  nurses 
who  flirt  with  young  officers.  Then,  as  in  other 
walks  of  life,  there  is  occasionally  a  person  who 
has  what  one  of  the  grey-haired  specialists  called 
the  gift,  when  he  spoke  of  Helen. 

She  had  fancy,  as  we  know,  and  she  could  put 
her  fancy  on  paper  with  a  quickness  and  sureness 
of  stroke  which  had  led  M.  Vailliant  to  think  that 
she  might  do  dry  points.  All  the  talent  she  had, 
all  her  heart,  belonged  to  the  wounded.  She  was 


A  SMILING  HELEN  285 

comrade  to  Mr.  Atkins,  whether  rosy-cheeked 
boys  of  the  "  Kitcheners  "  or  a  stoical  old  regular, 
who  accepted  fighting  as  his  job,  had  no  home,  and 
refused  to  be  a  hero. 

"  At  first  I  didn't  think  you  was  what  you'd  call 
a  beauty!  "  said  one,  who  got  red  after  he  had 
blurted  out  the  fact. 

"  I'm  not.    You've  good  eyesight,"  she  replied. 

"  But  now  I  think  you're  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I've  ever  seen!  "  he  added;  and  this  state 
ment  was  as  honest  as  the  first.  It  made  Helen 
infinitely  happy;  for  there  was  nothing  that  she 
so  much  desired  in  her  inmost  heart  as  to  be 
good-looking. 

She  drew  a  long  series  of  cartoons  for  that  gal 
lant  who  had  been  hung  up  in  the  barbed  wire 
in  the  moonlight,  played  at  bombs  back  and  forth 
with  the  Germans  around  "  Wipers,"  and  been 
pulled  out  of  mudholes  and  buried  by  shells.  The 
cartoons  were  her  best  card  in  the  pack  of  her 
hospital  cheer.  One  anecdote  illustrated  called 
for  another.  Helen  knew  more  about  the  life  of 
the  army  in  Flanders  than  the  "  brass  hats,"  the 
staff  and  all  the  war  correspondents.  For  these 
survivors  of  hell  did  not  want  gloomy  pictures. 
Reality  was  enough  without  adding  to  its  horrors 
that  of  long  faces.  They  liked  something  to  make 
them  smile  even  when  death  was  at  their  elbow. 
They  sent  her  cartoons  home  in  their  letters,  or 
if  they  had  no  homes,  put  the  sheets  away  with 


286  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

their  treasures.  One  even  cautioned  his  wife  not 
to  be  jealous,  because  this  jolly  nurse  drew  car 
toons  for  everybody;  and  he  had  the  rank  of 
major. 

Helen  kept  on  doing  what  she  called  real  draw 
ings,  which  were  appearing  the  world  around. 
Even  the  censors  could  not  find  any  military  secrets 
in  them,  particularly  after  she  sent  the  rhief  cen 
sor  a  cartoon  of  her  imaginary  portrait  of  a 
censor  in  his  most  diabolical  mood  of  evisceration. 
Some  of  the  cartoons,  too,  got  into  print,  bringing 
more  requests  from  editors,  which  she  could  refuse 
now  in  view  of  the  checks  coming  in  for  the  real 
drawings.  M.  Vailliant,  who  had  been  wounded 
and  was  now  convalescent,  had  gathered  up  some 
of  the  floating  strands  of  his  affairs  and  wrote  his 
congratulations  to  Helen,  hoping  that  she  would 
not  go  to  America  after  the  war.  Let  America 
come  to  her  in  Paris. 

"  You  are  trying  to  swell  my  head,"  she  wrote 
back;  "  and  I  do  believe  that  it  is  a  little  larger. 
How  can  it  help  being!  " 

Nevertheless,  that  tugging  at  her  heart  would 
come  at  times.  When  she  ought  to  be  perfectly 
happy  she  was  not,  as  she  found  whenever  her 
work  gave  her  a  moment  to  search  her  inner  self. 

All  this  about  Helen,  when  Henriette  was  just 
across  the  road  with  what  the  doctors  and  nurses 
in  Helen's  unit  referred  to  as  "  Lady  Truckle- 
ford's  lot."  Sometimes  the  doctors  when  they 


A  SMILING  HELEN  287 

looked  in  that  direction  said  something  almost 
profane  about  volunteer  organisations  and  people 
who  had  influence.  Lady  Truckleford  flitted  back 
and  forth  to  London,  where  she  was  on  a  number 
of  boards  and  lists  of  patronesses  without  know 
ing  what  they  were  all  about  unless  she  asked 
honourable  secretaries,  which  was  a  bore,  as  the 
honourable  secretaries  could  not  be  along  when 
somebody  gave  you  a  poser.  However,  she  did 
not  allow  such  details  to  disturb  her  placidity  for 
long. 

If  you  were  a  young  officer  whose  people  were 
of  some  account  and  you  were  only  slightly 
wounded,  "  Lady  Truckleford's  lot  "  was  a  most 
delightful  lot  to  be  with;  and  in  addition  you  were 
certain  of  attention  from  real  trained  nurses  who 
were  also  a  part  of  the  establishment.  In  charm 
ing  company  you  could  sit  in  the  same  sun  and 
breathe  the  same  air  as  the  convalescents  of  the 
professional  unit  and  look  out  to  sea  and  watch 
the  boats  coming  and  going  across  the  channel; 
and  you  could  also  make  trips  in  automobiles  to 
the  neighbouring  seaside  resort,  where  once 
French  and  English  people  came  in  the  holidays 
of  peace  before  the  world's  game  was  war.  Aside 
from  Henriette  among  Lady  Truckleford's  lot 
was  Lady  Violet  Dearing,  characterised  by  doll- 
like  beauty  and  a  lisp.  She  was  poor  and  de 
pendent  on  her  friends;  and  despite  her  lisp  and 
her  attractiveness  she  had  had  no  luck  in  making 


288  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

any  definite  attachment  though  she  was  twenty- 
eight,  which  is  a  desperate  age  for  doll-like 
beauties. 

Occasionally  Helen  went  to  see  Henriette;  of- 
tener,  indeed,  than  Henriette  came  to  see  her 
sister.  Once  Helen  made  some  cartoons  for  the 
young  wounded  officers  at  tea-time,  who  thought 
that  they  were  u  ripping."  Lady  Violet  quite 
agreed  with  their  view,  but  Henriette  was  cool 
to  her  sister  when  they  parted.  Helen  made  no 
more  cartoons  for  Lady  Truckleford's  lot. 

Gossip  ran  its  rounds  in  this  as  in  other  com 
munities.  Lady  Truckleford's  lot  knew  that  there 
was  a  young  American  by  name  of  Sanford,  who 
was  Henriette's  seventeenth  cousin;  and  Lady 
Violet  teased  Henriette  about  the  seventeenth 
cousin  when  she  had  been  the  object  of  too  much 
attention  from  the  young  officers.  If  anybody 
who  was  somebody  in  the  Truckleford  world  was 
wounded,  the  Truckleford  lot  soon  knew  it;  and 
if  he  were  interesting  it  was  still  possible,  in  those 
early  days  before  the  hideous  old  War  Office  be 
came  utterly  inconsiderate  of  all  the  nicer  human 
feelings,  to  have  him  transferred  to  "  more  con 
genial  surroundings." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A   "  SITTING   CASE  " 

"  X  TES,"  murmured  the  doctor  at  the  casualty 
|  clearing  station,  after  he  had  listened  to 
Phil's  heartbeats  and  examined  an  open 
ing  in  a  bandage  of  gauze  and  cotton.  '  Yes, 
another  one  of  the  miracles.  They  say  that  the 
Boches  in  such  cases " 

He  wiped  his  brow,  his  sentence  unfinished,  as 
Phil  gave  another  involuntary  cough  to  keep  the 
trickling  thing  out  of  his  lungs.  The  appeal  of 
nature,  struggling  for  self-preservation,  brought 
the  doctor  back  to  the  definite. 

"  No  chance  if  he  is  left  lying  down!  "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  We'll  make  a  sitting  case  of  it.  Hold 
him  up  all  the  way." 

They  lifted  the  limp  figure  into  the  ambulance, 
where  two  other  sitting  cases  were  waiting  for 
further  passengers. 

"Now,  you're  off!" 

The  swift,  kindly-springed  ambulance  sped  on 
out  of  the  zone  of  shell-fire  along  the  hard  roads 
between  the  avenues  of  poplars  in  the  glorious 
sunshine. 

Phil  realised  that  some  one  was  keeping  him 
389 


290  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

from  slipping  and  that  he  would  slip  and  keep  on 
slipping  to  the  very  bottom  of  things  if  left  to 
himself.  Little  hammers  were  beating  on  his 
brain.  Their  tat-tat  kept  him  from  any  con 
tinuity  of  thought.  As  soon  as  he  had  an  idea 
they  crushed  it  while  it  was  only  fluttering  in 
vagueness.  Indeed,  they  moved  about  over  his 
brain  on  the  lookout  to  crush  any  conscious  grasp 
of  anything.  He  would  outwit  them;  he  would 
know  what  all  this  was  about.  Straining  his 
eyelids  open — they  were  as  heavy  as  steel  doors — 
there  was  only  a  black  curtain  in  front  of  his  eyes 
as  the  reward  of  the  effort.  This  must  mean — 
but  the  hammers  would  not  let  him  find  out  what 
it  meant.  He  tried  to  listen  and  there  was  a  void 
beaten  by  noiseless  hammers  which  were  striking 
into  pulp — his  brain.  He  was  afraid  of  some 
thing;  something  ghastly  indefinable. 

Again  he  was  slipping.  He  would  just  let  him 
self  slip.  That  was  best.  When  you  slipped  the 
hammer-blows  became  muffled.  They  did  not  hurt 
so  much ;  only  when  you  slipped  you  had  to  cough 
to  keep  back  the  trickling  thing.  The  strong  arm 
of  the  hospital  corps  man  straightened  him  up. 
Apparently  some  one  did  not  want  him  to  slip. 
This  must  be  the  man  who  ran  the  hammers  and 
wanted  to  keep  them  busy — those  noiseless,  merci 
less  hammers  in  the  black  night. 

"  It's  lucky  just  to  get  it  in  the  leg,"  said  one 
of  the  two  sitting  cases  opposite,  with  a  red  spot 


A  "SITTING  CASE"  291 

on  a  white  wrapping  showing  through  his  slit 
trousers'  leg. 

"  Bang  in  the  middle  of  the  head's  better  than 
that,"  said  the  other,  who  had  his  arm  in  a  sling. 

"God,  yes!" 

Up  and  down  hill  the  ambulance,  its  green 
curtains  drawn  on  its  secrets,  ran  smoothly  on 
past  the  long  trains  of  motor-trucks  that  fed  the 
army,  past  well-muscled,  comely,  eager,  whistling, 
and  singing  youth  on  the  march,  through  villages 
and  towns,  through  the  orderly  world  of  health 
and  action  to  that  quiet  world  where  the  nurses 
smiled,  inside  the  long,  low  buildings  connected 
by  gravelled  paths. 

Phil  knew  that  he  had  arrived  because  he  had 
been  lifted  down  from  somewhere  onto  something, 
which  was  a  signal  for  the  hammers  to  do  a  snare- 
drum  dance  which  made  him  unconscious  for  a 
moment.  The  hammers  did  not  like  him  to  be 
unconscious.  Having  beaten  him  out  of  conscious 
ness,  they  beat  him  back  to  it  with  a  different  kind 
of  tattoo.  Then,  he  was  being  carried  along  in  a 
sort  of  cradle. 

"  Keep  his  head  up  !  "  said  the  little  ticket  which 
came  with  all  who  were  sent  to  the  human  repair 
shop. 

"  Very  particular  about  that !  "  insisted  the  tired 
medical  corps  man,  who  had  held  Phil  up  for  the 
whole  journey. 

Phil  had  only  the  sense  of  being  laid  on  some- 


292  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

thing  soft,  with  his  shoulders  propped  up  against 
something  still  softer.  Then  they  were  taking  off 
his  clothes.  These  people  were  very  kind,  but 
they  could  not  stop  the  hammers;  nothing  could. 
Perhaps  they  would  let  him  slip  down,  down, 
down,  on  that  downy  pillow  till  the  hammers 
stopped.  He  would  tell  them  about  the  ham 
mers  ;  then  they  would  understand  why  he  wanted 
to  slip.  So  he  tried  to  speak,  though  he  was  utter 
ing  only  a  gurgle  and  he  could  not  have  heard 
his  own  voice  if  he  had  been  articulate.  The 
hammers  were  drowning  his  voice  with  their  beat. 
They  did  not  mean  to  let  him  slip.  If  he  could  not 
hear  his  own  voice,  how  could  he  expect  the  kind 
people  to  hear  it? 

A  young  surgeon  used  his  stethoscope;  then 
waited  on  his  superior,  Dr.  Smythe,  to  come  be 
fore  attempting  any  redressing. 

"  An  eighth  of  an  inch  more  would  have  done 
it!  "  said  Dr.  Smythe,  as  they  removed  the 
bandages.  "Why  not  the  fraction?  It  would 
have  been  more  merciful." 

"  The  Boches,  they  say,  in  such  cases " 

began  the  young  doctor. 

"  We  can't — and  won't!  "  was  the  reply  of  the 
senior. 

Phil  felt  that  the  hot  sponge  had  been  removed. 
He  could  breathe  more  freely.  More  air  in  his 
lungs  revived  him.  Shooting  pains  ran  out  in 
forked  tongues  from  the  hammer-beats,  bringing 


A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  293 

an  acute  consciousness  of  why  the  sponge  had 
been  there.  His  hand  went  up  involuntarily, 
quickly,  on  its  mission  of  discovery.  The  doctors, 
realising  his  purpose,  reached  for  it  in  common 
impulse,  to  save  him  from  the  truth,  but  too 
late.  The  sense  he  had  left,  that  of  touch  as 
acute  as  ever,  felt  the  moist  and  fractured  horror. 
His  arm  hung  a  dead  weight  in  the  surgeons'  grip 
as  they  laid  it  back  by  his  side  on  the  cot.  His 
brain  had  been  struck  another  stunning  blow,  such 
as  it  had  received  from  the  shell.  It  rebounded 
with  wild  consciousness  as  he  tried  to  lift  himself 
forward  in  delirious  effort.  But  a  strong  hand.- 
was  pressing  his  forehead;  other  strong  hands 
were  forcing  him  back  into  place.  The  hand  on 
his  forehead  said  to  him:  "  It  is  useless;  you  can 
not."  And  the  hammers  had  it,  there  in  that 
soundless,  dumb,  sightless  world  of  torture. 

Now  he  must  pretend  to  yield;  yes,  he  must 
keep  one  thing  in  mind.  They  might  hold  his 
head  up,  but  this  would  not  prevent  him  from  slip 
ping.  He  would  will  that  he  should  slip  and 
keep  on  willing  it  till  he  reached  the  bottom  of 
things.  Yes,  that  had  been  done  before  and  he 
could  do  it.  They  could  not  make  him  live  under 
the  hammers — live  for  such  a  monstrous  future  as 
he  foresaw.  Yes,  just  will  it  and  it  would  not  take 
long  to  die;  no,  not  long — a  few  hours,  perhaps. 
He  was  sure  of  this.  Beat  on,  hammers,  while 
you  may;  the  harder,  the  sooner  the  end. 


294  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  It's  a  chance  for  Bricktop  to  make  good," 
said  Dr.  Smythe.  "  We've  heard  so  much  of  his 
wonders.  Send  for  him." 

Already  word  had  passed  through  the  ward 
and  even  across  the  way  to  Lady  Truckleford's  lot 
that  there  was  a  terrible  case  at  Number  Four, 
gunner  officer,  named  Sanford.  It  reached  Hen- 
riette  when  she  was  at  tea  and  Helen  when  she 
was  at  her  quarters  off  duty  and  drawing.  The 
young  doctor  who  had  gone  for  Bricktop  met  them 
coming  in  at  the  door  and  noted  their  startled, 
anxious  faces. 

Henriette  leading,  they  came  down  the  aisle. 
When  Dr.  Smythe,  whose  form  hid  Phil,  drew 
aside  and  Henriette  saw  what  lay  against  the  white 
pillow  she  screamed  and  placed  both  hands  over 
her  eyes  to  hide  the  sight  and  turned  away,  reel 
ing  and  shuddering. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  she  cried,  stumbling  toward  the 
door. 

"The  screen!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Smythe. 

Helen,  too,  had  her  hands  over  her  eyes;  she, 
too,  was  shuddering  but  not  moving.  She  brought 
her  hands  down  with  a  kind  of  wrench,  stiffened 
her  chin,  and  then  stepped  behind  the  screen. 

"  Cousin  Phil!  "  she  said,  striving  to  keep  her 
voice  steady — and  she  saw  that  his  glazed  eyes 
were  sightless. 

"  He  is  quite  deaf  from  shell-shock,  too !  "  said 
Dr.  Smythe. 


A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  295 

So  this  was  Helen's  cousin;  therefore,  Hen- 
riette's. 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  with  deep  breaths, 
as  if  between  impulses,  before  she  dropped  down 
beside  the  cot.  Those  hammers  could  not  prevent 
Phil  from  knowing  that  a  woman's  hand  was 
grasping  his,  a  soft  palm  and  slim  fingers  were 
pressing  his  tight,  as  if  they  would  send  a  current 
of  cheer  through  him.  She  could  do  that  when 
he  was  so  monstrous!  If  only  the  shell  had  fin 
ished  him.  With  her  other  hand  she  was  rolling 
up  his  sleeve;  then  she  slipped  her  left  hand  in 
place  of  the  right  in  his.  Dr.  Smythe  and  the 
nurse  in  attendance  looked  on  in  a  spell  of  tragic 
curiosity. 

Now  Phil  felt  a  finger  moving  on  his  arm. 
Sensitive  little  nerves — he  had  never  known  that 
there  were  such  sensitive  ones — followed  the 
movement  and  carried  the  sense  of  their  progress 
to  the  brain  in  spite  of  the  hammers. 

"  I  am  trying  to  write  so  you  will  understand," 
she  slowly  traced  the  letters.  "  If  you  do,  two 
pressures  of  the  hand  is  yes." 

'  Yes,"  came  the  signal. 

"  He  does !  "  said  Helen,  smiling  up  to  Dr. 
Smythe  in  triumph. 

u  Ripping!  "  he  said. 

She  repeated  the  message  aloud,  firmly,  confi 
dently,  as  she  slowly  wrote : 

"  I  have  good  news.     You  will  recover  your 


296  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

hearing,  speech,  and  sight  completely.  We  have 
a  miracle  man  here  who  will  make  you  whole 
again,  just  the  same  that  you  were  before  except 
for  a  few  little  scars  that  will  go  away.  You  must 
just  want  to  get  well,  in  order  to  give  the  miracle 
man  his  chance  and  for  the  sake  of  your  father 
and  mother  and  those  who  love  you."  And  after 
the  last  word  she  hesitated,  then  wrote  the  letter 
"H." 

Each  letter  surging  along  those  sensitive  nerves, 
and  letters  slowly  spelling  words.  She  could  look 
at  the  monstrous  sight  that  he  was,  at  that  gaping 
wound,  and  ask  this  of  him !  She  wanted  him  to 
live !  So  be  it.  He  would  not  try  to  slip.  The 
miracle  man  should  have  his  chance.  It  was  be 
tween  the  hammers  on  one  side  and  her  and  the 
miracle  man  on  the  other. 

"  Wonderful !  I  admire  your  courage  in  saying 
it !  "  Dr.  Smythe  remarked  thickly. 

"  But  it  will  and  must  come  true !  "  said  Helen 
sturdily,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked 
straight  into  his  eyes,  her  own  aflame  with  resolu 
tion.  "  No  one  must  even  think  the  contrary." 

Another  person  had  overheard  the  message 
written  on  Phil's  arm  as  he  looked  around  the 
corner  of  the  screen.  Lean  he  was  and  angularly 
built.  His  hair  was  brick-red,  his  face  freckled, 
his  age  about  thirty-five,  and  he  had  a  smiling  turn 
to  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  He  had  come  down 
the  aisle  with  a  noiseless  step,  as  if  propelled  by 


A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  297 

inexhaustible  nervous  vitality,  and  he  had  the  air 
of  a  man  with  distinctly  eccentric  qualities,  who 
would  never  stop  on  a  street  corner  to  ask  anybody 
to  tell  him  how  to  do  his  work.  No  second  glance 
would  be  required  to  see  that  he  was  American — 
"  corn-fed  and  from  Kansas,"  to  use  his  own 
words. 

"  Well,  picture  girl,  you  seem  to  have  put  it 
up  to  me !  "  he  said  cheerily.  "  You've  made  a 
lot  of  promises  in  my  name;  but  that's  just  the 
kind  of  talk  that  helps." 

Bricktop  examined  the  wound,  while  Helen 
studied  his  features;  but  she  could  tell  nothing  by 
them.  She  knew  that  there  were  cases  which  he 
refused  to  undertake,  and  nothing  could  change 
his  mind.  Too  many  "  possible  "  cases  came  back 
from  the  front  behind  the  green  curtains  for  him 
to  waste  time  on  the  "  impossible." 

"Remember  he  is  an  American!"  she  whis 
pered. 

"So?    What  part?" 

"  New  England  and  the  Southwest." 

'  That  makes  an  all-round  man.  Not  that 
gunner  Sanford?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Peter  Smithers — but  this  is  a  little  world." 

All  the  while  his  mind  was  on  that  wound :  his 
talk  an  incidental  byplay  of  his  intense  concentra 
tion.  He  began  making  quick,  nervous  little  move 
ments  with  his  hands  as  if  he  were  illustrating  a 


298  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

mechanical  process  in  pantomime.  When  he  had 
first  appeared  at  the  hospital  this  habit  was  con 
sidered  gallery  play;  but  most  of  the  doctors 
had  learned  to  believe  in  him,  though  some  were 
still  sceptical,  as  was  Smythe  in  a  measure.  Here 
was  a  test.  When  Bricktop  looked  up  he  met 
professional  inquiry  in  Smythe's  eye. 

"Can  you?" 

"  Now,  if  I  said  that  I  could,"  Bricktop  replied, 
"  and  I  didn't,  all  the  stick-in-the-muds  would  say 
there  was  one  on  me.  I'm  going  to  try.  It's 
amazing  how  bad  it  is  and  yet  what  there  is  to 
work  with.  But  there's  one  thing — I  don't  know. 
Never  had  anything  like  it  before.  I  can  make 
him  as  good  as  he  was — or  it's  a  complete  failure. 
I  want  him  brought  over  to  my  place  immediately. 
And  you,  picture  girl,  you  are  going  to  stand  by 
and  write  cheerful  messages  on  his  arm?  " 

"  Yes,  always!  "  said  Helen. 

"  As  for  his  ears,  eyes,  and  vocal  chords — that 
is  up  to  other  sharps,"  said  Bricktop. 

Phil  was  lifted  up  again  and  placed  on  some 
thing  not  so  soft  as  the  bed  and  by  the  motion 
he  comprehended  that  he  was  making  another 
journey.  It  was  to  an  entrance  with  the  sign 
"  Oral  Surgery."  As  Bricktop  said,  "  This  means 
Yours  Truly ! "  Here  he  was  autocrat,  this 
stranger  from  Kansas  by  way  of  New  York.  On 
the  door  of  a  room  fitted  out  with  dentist's  ac 
cessories  and  many  little  drawers  was  painted 


A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  299 

11  William  Smith,  D.  D.  S."  He  was  always  glad 
to  tell  people  about  himself,  because,  as  he  said, 
this  saved  them  from  wasting  time  in  guessing  and 
allowed  him  the  start  in  the  kind  of  informa 
tion  which  was  being  passed  around  about  him. 

"  Glad  father  and  mother,  who  were  sensible 
people,  had  a  sense  of  harmony  or  something  like 
that,"  he  would  say,  "  and  didn't  name  me  De- 
courcey  or  Charlemagne  Smith.  Good  old  name, 
Smith !  Everybody  knows  how  to  spell  it.  Makes 
the  inside  of  the  city  directory  look  companion 
able.  But  usually,"  he  pointed  to  his  hair,  "  I'm 
known  as  Bricktop.  At  school  they  called  me 
Bill  Bricktop;  but  I  considered  that  too  illiterate 
and  undignified  after  I  hung  out  my  shingle. 
D.  D.  S. — I'm  a  dental  surgeon;  dental  surgeon 
— surgeon,  mind,  and  some  other  kinds  of  a  sur 
geon,  too.  When  I  get  time  I'm  going  to  do  a 
book  on  jaws.  l  Bricktop  on  Jaws  ' !  Sounds  like 
the  personal  memoirs  of  a  henpecked  husband, 
eh?" 

Not  only  dentist,  but  surgeon!  That  was  the 
fact  that  he  kept  beating  into  the  British  mind, 
which  seemed  to  him  somewhat  opaque  at  times, 
when  he  was  fighting  to  get  the  opportunity  to  do 
the  work  that  he  was  now  doing.  He  had  an 
air  of  not  caring  for  anybody,  this  William  Smith, 
with  his  bright  grey  eye  and  smiling  mouth,  which 
frequently  leads  to  professional  success  and  even 
to  average  mortals  being  regarded  as  geniuses. 


300  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

In  New  York  his  reputation  for  delicate  and  origi 
nal  work  brought  him  many  rich  patients,  which  he 
never  allowed  to  interfere  with  his  hospital  ex 
periments  on  jaws.  He  made  enough  money  to 
take  care  of  the  little  Smiths  as  they  arrived, 
one,  two,  three,  four,  and  all  red-headed. 

"  I  should  have  been  rather  disappointed  if  they 
hadn't  been,"  he  said.  "  There's  something  in 
the  very  fact  of  being  a  red-headed  Smith  that 
ought  to  give  any  kid  a  start  in  life." 

When  the  war  broke  out  and  he  read  about  the 
havoc  wrought  by  bursting  shells  he  set  out  for 
Europe,  believing  in  himself  and  his  mission  to  do 
more  good  in  the  world  repairing  fractured  jaws 
than  by  making  up  the  deficiencies  of  nature  in  the 
mouths  of  the  rich;  but  because  he  believed  in 
himself  that  was  no  reason  why  the  War  Office 
should  believe  in  him. 

The  first  permission  that  he  had  secured  after 
arriving  in  England  was  to  look  around  the  hospi 
tals  for  bad  cases  and  then  to  go  ahead  with  one 
which  everybody  had  given  up.  When  he  trans 
formed  an  officer  condemned  to  wear  a  black 
cloth  over  his  face  for  life  into  a  presentable 
human  being,  he  had  a  walking  testimonial  of 
his  skill  which  gave  him  an  entry  into  the  big 
hospital  in  France.  What  an  amazing  lot  of 
things  he  required:  laboratories  and  X-ray  ap 
paratus  and  the  more  the  authorities  gave  him, 
the  more  he  wanted — this  William  Smith,  D.  D.  S. 


A  "SITTING  CASE"  301 

When  equipment  was  not  forthcoming  through 
the  regular  official  channels,  he  went  into  his  own 
pocket  for  the  funds  to  buy  it.  His  bank  account 
depleted,  he  was  relieved  from  a  fit  of  depression 
by  a  draft  from  an  angel  in  New  York  for  twenty 
thousand  dollars. 

"  Now,  don't  say  that  angels  cannot  draw 
drafts,"  he  told  Dr.  Braisted,  the  great  eye 
specialist  from  London,  "  or  I'll  think  that  the 
English  have  no  sense  of  humour  at  all." 

Braisted  was  as  extremely  British  as  Bricktop 
was  American.  Possibly  this  was  why  they  got  on 
so  well  together.  Being  a  big  man  himself  who 
had  given  up  a  practice  of  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  a  year  to  save  soldiers  from  blindness, 
Braisted  could  appreciate  Bricktop's  professional 
eagerness  and  altruism;  and  after  a  half-hour's 
talk  with  the  American  he  understood  that 
the  American  had  a  thorough  groundwork  of 
training,  plus  a  gift.  This  made  him  one  of 
Bricktop's  early  partisans.  Another  was  Helen. 
There  was  no  criticising  William  Smith,  D.  D.  S. 
when  she  was  about.  She  knew  the  subjects  of 
his  skill. 

"  You  sit  down  and  draw  for  them  and  they 
forget  their  jaws  ache,"  he  told  her,  as  he  nodded 
to  the  figures  with  faces  and  jaws  swathed  in 
bandages  in  the  courtyard  of  his  kingdom. 

As  soon  as  their  wounds  healed  he  had  them 
again  under  the  knife,  for  the  next  process  in 


302  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

reconstruction.  Those  little  contrivances  fash 
ioned  in  his  laboratory  which  they  had  to  wear 
caused  intense  pain;  but  they  bore  it  with  noble 
patience.  Whenever  he  appeared  their  eyes  fol 
lowed  him  with  a  beautiful  gratitude,  a  childlike 
confidence.  He  was  changing  them  from  mon 
strosities  into  whole  men. 

"  Better  pay  than  you  get  filling  teeth  for  mil 
lionaires !"  said  Bricktop.  "Stopping  teeth,  I 
should  say;  that's  English." 

It  was  a  familiar  thing  for  the  men  in  the  court 
to  see  stretchers  wheeled  into  the  operating-room. 
After  this  they  watched  for  that  red-headed  man 
with  the  smiling  mouth  to  walk  across  from  his 
office,  as  another  part  of  the  regular  routine  of 
their  existence,  and  their  sympathy  went  out  to  the 
fellow  on  the  stretcher  as  no  one  else's  could. 

The  picture  girl  walking  beside  the  stretcher 
this  afternoon  did  not  even  look  up  at  them,  let 
alone  send  them  a  smile  as  usual.  When  Brick- 
top  came  across  from  the  office  she  was  waiting  at 
the  door  of  the  operating-room,  and  they  noted 
the  appeal  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  to  him.  Very 
observing  those  maimed  men  who  could  not  speak, 
but  still  had  their  eyesight.  Whoever  was  on  that 
stretcher  must  mean  a  great  deal  to  the  picture 
girl.  Afterward,  while  the  operation  was  on, 
she  came  over  to  them  and  talked,  but  they  felt 
that  her  mind  was  inside  the  operating-room  and 
that  she  was  suffering.  That  was  the  thing  about 


A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  303 

her :  she  could  feel  how  others  suffered.  It  did 
them  more  good  than  her  drawings. 

After  he  was  through  with  the  preliminary 
probing  and  splicing  and  wiring,  which  he  fore 
saw  must  be  followed  by  many  other  sessions, 
Bricktop  had  what  he  called  one  of  his  "  blow 
outs." 

"Fine  business,  war;  so  sensible,  so  logical, 
so  considerate  of  everybody's  feelings!"  he 
stormed.  "  A  man  who  had  a  robber  baron  for 
an  ancestor  and  who  likes  to  see  his  picture  in 
the  papers  and  wear  a  uniform  and  thinks  that 
everything  is  his  by  divine  right,  when  what  he 
needs  is  a  swift  kick,  wants  some  more  glory! 
So  he  puts  on  his  war-bonnet  and  starts  the  glori 
ous  old  game,  with  improvements — sidewipes  with 
jagged  bits  of  steel  that  make  a  mess  like  this! 
Enough  money  fired  away  in  one  day  to  give 
everybody  good  teeth.  Think  of  that — if  every 
body  had  decent  teeth  and  well-shaped  mouths! 
But  they  can't  afford  it.  It's  the  killing  season. 
The  good  old  sport  must  be  kept  up !  " 

The  nurses  were  familiar  with  the  "  blow-outs," 
which  usually  came  with  the  reaction  after  a 
trying  operation,  when  those  skilful  fingers  had 
been  so  certain  in  their  touch  under  an  eye  which 
was  like  the  steel  of  the  instruments  that  he  used. 

Phil  had  awakened  to  find  that  they  had  taken 
away  the  thing  over  his  nose  that  had  put  him  to 
sleep.  And  they  had  put  back  the  sponge -like 


304  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

thing  in  his  mouth;  but  he  could  breathe  better 
than  before.  Then  they  were  taking  him  on  an 
other  journey  and  propping  him  up  in  bed  again, 
in  his  world  of  silent  night.  He  knew,  instantly 
her  hand  touched  his,  that  it  was  she  again.  She 
was  writing: 

"  It  went  all  right.  The  miracle  man  is 
pleased." 

"  Brave  little  liar !  "  thought  Bricktop,  whose 
pessimism  with  the  first  results  had  made  his 
"  blow-out  "  particularly  bitter. 

"  I  am  writing  to  your  father  for  you  and  tell 
ing  him  that  you  will  be  as  good  as  ever,"  she 
continued.  "  The  miracle  man  says  that  the  pain 
will  be  bad,  and  if  it  is  too  bad,  clap  your  hands 
and  they  will  stop  it.  But  he  would  rather  not, 
if  you  can  endure  it." 

Phil  gave  her  hand  two  pressures  to  signify  that 
he  understood,  and  had  a  pressure  in  response 
before  she  withdrew  her  hand  with  a  fluttering, 
nervous  quickness.  This  return  pressure  helped. 
It  was  like  comradeship  in  battle.  He  was  not 
making  the  fight  alone. 

Next,  they  were  doing  something  to  his  eyes, 
which  were  finally  covered  with  a  compress.  The 
people  out  in  that  silent  blackness  were  divided 
into  classes :  She  and  they.  Then  they  were  doing 
something  to  his  ears.  The  eye  and  the  ear  ex 
perts  said  the  same  as  Bricktop.  Both  would  try; 
for  all  three  were  big  men,  who  said  just  what 


A  "  SITTING  CASE  "  305 

they  meant.  Phil,  guessing  their  purpose,  waited 
for  the  message  on  his  arm. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  she  wrote  again.  "  They  say 
you  will  see  again  and  hear  again  as  well  as  ever." 

He  believed  her  with  the  faith  of  those  men 
in  the  court  who  followed  Bricktop  with  their  con 
fident  eyes.  Soon  the  pain  came ;  needlelike  shoots 
of  broken  nerves  that  had  been  numbed  by  shock. 
A  thousand  needles  sewing,  pricking,  leaping, 
burning,  drowning  the  hammer-beats! 

"  But  I'll  stick  it!  "  thought  Phil. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

IN  HER  PLACE  AGAIN 

THE   numbing  horror   of   it — and  to   have 
come    into    her    life — hers!      Enveloping 
horror,    the    horror    of   war   personified, 
drove    Henriette    out    of    the    ward,    on    with 
mechanical  steps  toward  a  deserted  part  of  the 
beach,  where  she  could  be  alone  and  think  before 
she  faced  Lady  Truckleford's  lot. 

Her  gospel  of  life  had  been  a  gospel  of  beauty: 
a  delight  in  her  own  beauty  as  a  source  of  power; 
a  dislike  of  all  things  that  were  not  comely;  a 
choice  of  surroundings  in  the  fashioning  of  a  beau 
tiful  world,  selected  and  detached  in  a  charming 
egoism,  where  she  was  supreme.  Phil  had  come 
from  afar  and  played  a  knightly  part;  she  had 
fitted  him  into  that  world.  It  was  the  end — the 
end  of  upward  glances  into  his  eyes;  of  profile 
turned  in  the  certainty  of  holding  his  impelled, 
prolonged  regard  of  admiration;  of  sauntering  in 
woodland  paths;  of  rhythmic  swing  in  step  across 
the  fields;  of  fair  afternoons  with  him  posing  and 
herself  posing  as  she  leisurely  played  with  her 
brush — of  the  most  delectable  of  all  her  experi 
ences. 

306 


IN  HER  PLACE  AGAIN  307 

Those  finely-chiselled  features  which  she  had 
painted,  which  had  been  the  security  of  masculine 
strength  in  her  fright  as  he  carried  her  to  the 
cover  of  the  gully,  their  elation  when  she  spoke 
of  the  woman  who  waited  when  the  man  went  out 
to  fight — and  that  monstrous  fact  against  a  pil 
low  in  the  hospital ! 

War  had  made  its  test  in  kind.  All  the  soft, 
pampered  years  were  in  reckoning  for  her, 
as  the  suffering  years  were  for  Helen.  Her  in 
stinct  was  to  fly  to  her  quiet  studio  in  Paris,  as  a 
child  flies  indoors  to  its  mother  from  a  storm 
dragon;  but  public  opinion,  personified  to  her 
distraction  by  Lady  Truckleford's  lot,  would  not 
permit  this.  Her  friends  knew  that  he  was  her 
cousin;  and  Lady  Violet's  teasing  had  been  the 
reflection  of  general  knowledge  of  the  situation 
between  the  two.  No  one  would  more  quickly  ap 
preciate  than  they  in  their  own  beautiful  world 
that  any  conventional  outcome  would  now  be 
impossible,  yet  none  readier  to  point  the  finger 
at  heartlessness.  They  would  expect  devoted  at 
tention  to  him  for  a  certain  period  in  his  ghastly 
misfortune. 

Had  she  courage?  Could  she  bear  standing  by 
his  bedside  and  looking  at  his  bandaged  face  ?  She 
must!  Her  part  became  clear.  Her  cousin  and 
friend  had  been  maimed;  she  pitied  him;  suffer 
ing  should  go  with  her  grief  for  him  in  a  way 
that  would  engage  the  sympathy  of  all.  What 


308  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

were  they  saying  at  Lady  Truckleford's  at  this 
minute?  Their  opinion  had  come  to  mean  much 
to  her.  They  knew  only  that  she  had  put  her 
hands  to  her  eyes  and  screamed  and  staggered  out 
of  doors.  Was  not  this  the  natural  result  of 
such  a  shock?  And  the  next?  It  would  be  to 
inquire  about  him. 

Starting  back  to  the  ward,  a  new  horror  pre 
sented  itself  on  the  way.  All  her  life  she  might 
be  known  as  the  woman  who  was  waiting  for  a 
man,  who  returned  to  her  a  blind,  deaf  wreck. 
He  would  exist,  haunting  her  memory,  invading 
her  beautiful  world  with  a  mutilating  hand.  If 
only — she  shuddered  at  the  thought  which  easily 
became  familiar  in  an  era  when  the  quick  became 
the  dead  as  a  matter  of  course  out  where  the  guns 
were  firing.  Perhaps  he  was  already  gone.  She 
gasped  and  halted  as  she  found  the  possibility 
hastening  her  steps.  The  man  for  whom  she 
had  waited,  though  they  had  not  really  been  en 
gaged  as  she  kept  reminding  herself,  would  have 
fallen  in  action  and  the  slate  would  be  clean. 

She  was  at  the  door  of  the  ward  and  heard  her 
voice  asking  a  nurse  how  he  was. 

"  He's  transferred  to  Dr.  Smith.  There's  been 
an  operation.  I've  not  heard  the  result,"  replied 
the  nurse  coldly;  for  a  woman  finds  it  as  easy  to 
speak  coldly  to  another  woman  who  is  beautiful 
as  a  man  finds  it  difficult. 

"And  my  sister?"  asked  Henrietta. 


IN  HER  PLACE  AGAIN  309 

"  She  went  across  with  the  stretcher." 

As  Henriette  made  a  turn  in  the  path  which 
brought  her  in  sight  of  the  Oral  Surgery  sign, 
Helen  was  passing  under  it  and  coming  toward 
her.  She  was  pale  and  faint  with  exhaustion 
from  the  strain  which  had  ended  with  that  final 
tax  on  her  strength,  as  she  put  all  she  had  into  the 
message  of  optimism  which  she  had  written  on 
Phil's  arm.  So  near  had  she  been  to  him,  so 
bound  up  with  him  in  thought  and  feeling,  that 
coming  suddenly  face  to  face  with  Henriette  af 
fected  her  strangely.  She  had  a  tightening  in  her 
throat  and  Henriette  a  stifling  constraint  along 
with  her  suspense.  After  a  silence,  Helen  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"  He  stood  the  operation  well,"  she  said. 

"And  he  will  live — live?"  Henriette  asked, 
her  breath  catching  on  the  words. 

Helen  remembered  now  how  her  sister  had  put 
her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  screamed.  After 
wards  she  had  not  thought  of  Henriette,  only  of 
him.  It  had  been  too  horrible  for  Henriette  to 
bear.  Henriette  loved  him  and  he  loved  her, 
and  her  eyes  to  Helen's  revealed  her  suffering 
in  the  past  two  hours.  Now  she  had  come  back 
as  one  in  a  dream,  afraid  to  ask  how  he  was. 

"  Yes,  he  will  live,  Henriette — oh,  how  awful 
it  has  been  for  you !  His  body  is  as  good  as  ever. 
He  will  live  and  make  the  fight.  He  has  promised 
— such  a  hard  fight! " 


3io  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"Then  he  had  wished  to  die?  He  was 

going  to,  you  mean,  and — and "  Henrietta 

wrenched  out  the  words. 

"  Yes,  and  the  doctor  says  that  he  would  have 
died.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  will-power.  But  we 
told  him  that  he  would  get  his  sight  and  hearing 
back  and  except  for  some  little  scars  will  be  the 
same  as  before." 

"Will  he?" 

"  He  must!  We  must  not  allow  him  or  our 
selves  to  think  anything  else.  Just  must — must !  " 

"  Yes !  "  Henriette  breathed  faintly. 

"  Will  you  go  in  and  see  him?  " 

"  I "  Henriette  hesitated.  "  No,  not  to 
night  !  "  she  concluded. 

The  two  sisters  walked  along  the  path  in  silence, 
which  was  a  gripping  silence  for  both.  When  they 
came  to  the  parting  of  the  ways  to  their  quarters, 
Helen  took  Henriette's  hand  in  hers. 

"  There  is  another  reason  why  he  wants  to 
live.  You  asked  him  to,"  she  said. 

"  I — I  could  not  bear  it — I  went  out.  How 
could  I?  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  The  will  was  everything  in  the  crisis,  as  I  said. 
Often  such  cases — well — some  one  had  to  speak 
to  him  and  tell  him  it  would  all  come  out  right 
when  it  was  so  hard  for  him  to  breathe,  or  he 
would  not  have  tried  to  breathe  any  more.  So  I 
wrote  on  his  arm  and  asked  him  to  live  for — 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  loved  him — and  he 


IN  HER  PLACE  AGAIN  311 

could  not  see  that  it  was  I — and  I  signed  it 
H!" 

Henriette  withdrew  her  hand  from  Helen's  in 
a  spasm  which  shook  her  frame.  She  opened  her 
lips  to  speak,  but  would  not  trust  her  own  tongue 
and  whirling  brain. 

"  Again  you  took  my  place  !  "  she  exclaimed,  at 
last. 

"  It  was  for  you — to  give  him  hope  to  inspire 
him  for  the  fight!  "  Helen  replied,  with  passion 
ate  conviction. 

"Yes — yes,  I  understand.  I  can't  think!  It's 
too  horrible !  Go  on  taking  my  place — you  can 
— it's  easier  for  you !  Yes,  go  on !  It  unstrings 
me  too  much  now  to  see  him — yes,  look  after  him, 
encourage  him.  Go  on — only  don't  tell  any  one 
the  ruse  that  you  are  playing!  "  she  concluded, 
with  a  burst  of  emphatic  coherency  before  she 
bolted  along  the  path,  murmuring  to  herself: 
"  Yes,  that  is  it — that  is  the  way  out !  " 

Over  at  Lady  Truckleford's  lot  they  had  been 
thinking  of  little  else  but  Henriette.  How  would 
she  take  it?  The  lot  was  gathered  in  the  recep 
tion-room  before  going  into  dinner,  and  when 
Henriette  entered  all  eyes  were  covertly  or  openly 
upon  her.  Lady  Violet  took  the  lead  by  spring 
ing  up  and  kissing  Henriette  on  the  cheek. 

"You  poor  dear!"  breathed  Lady  Violet. 
"  Of  course  we've  heard,  and  we've  all  felt  for 


312  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Henriette,  pale  in  her  distress,  had  never 
seemed  more  beautiful  to  Captain  Landor,  who 
had  had  a  bullet  through  the  arm.  Usually  Hen 
riette  cut  his  meat  for  dinner;  but  to-night  Lady 
Violet  was  assured  of  the  privilege. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  inquiring  as  to  the 
result  of  the  operation,"  said  Henriette.  "  He  is 
resting  easily.  As  you  know,  he  is  really  a  dis 
tant  cousin  of  Helen's  and  mine  and  we  were  all 
fond  of  one  another.  We  had  such  good  times 
together  at  Mervaux.  It  was  so  fine  of  him  to 
stay  and  fight  instead  of  going  home.  Then  this ! 
You  can't  imagine  the  shock  of  it!  " 

"Terrible!"  gasped  Lady  Violet.  "We  all 
know  what  it  means  to  you." 

"  And  even  more  to  Helen !  "  said  Henriette. 
"  Poor  Helen !  She  was  utterly  devoted  to 
him  and  he  to  her.  She  has  stood  by  so  bravely, 
insisting  that  he  will  get  his  sight  and  hearing 
back  and  that  Bricktop  will  remake  him  as  good 
as  new.  When  I  think  of  him  as  I  last  saw  him 
and  how  Helen  is  suffering — it's  too  horrible !  " 

With  a  weary  drooping  of  her  lashes,  she  said 
that  she  was  too  tired  to  think  of  coming  down  to 
dinner  and  went  to  her  room,  where,  after  she 
had  bathed  her  face  and  taken  down  her  hair,  her 
reflection  in  the  mirror  in  its  faultless  outline  was  a 
reflection  of  something  in  her  cosmos  which  could 
have  no  part  with  deformities  of  any  kind,  and 
her  relief  was  infinite  over  the  gate  that  Helen  had 


IN  HER  PLACE  AGAIN  313 

providentially  opened.  She  hastened  to  write  to 
her  mother,  the  letter  a  symbol  of  cutting  a  chain 
with  the  past: 

".  .  .1  saw  it — a  monstrous  wound  of  the 
jaw.  He  is  deaf,  blind,  speechless.  They  say  that 
he  will  live.  I  need  not  tell  you  what  a  day  it  has 
been  for  Helen  and  me !  When  I  thought  of  his 
gallant  conduct  at  Mervaux  in  refusing  to  leave 
Helen  there  alone,  of  our  fun  over  the  portrait 
and  the  cartoons,  and  all  that  he  meant  to  his 
father  and  mother,  the  thought  of  what  has 
happened  to  him  was  too  horrible  for  words. 
I  am  glad  that  when  he  became  epris  I  did  not 
encourage  him.  Now  I  see  that  his  real  fondness 
was  for  Helen.  He  asks  for  her,  wants  her  near 
him.  She  is  a  great  comfort  to  him  and  her  feel 
ing  for  him  is  deeper  than  either  of  us  realised. 
I  hope  you  will  give  up  your  trip  to  Truckleford, 
travelling  conditions  are  so  abominable." 

To  which  Madame  Ribot  consented,  as  she  was 
no  longer  interested  in  Peter  Smithers's  visit. 

Helen,  after  she  had  separated  from  her  sister 
on  the  path,  had  thought  little  of  what  had  passed 
between  them.  Her  mind  was  too  intensely  ob 
jective.  Anything  to  make  Phil  well !  It  did  not 
matter  how  it  was  done  or  who  did  it.  Upon  her 
return  to  her  room  she  gathered  up  her  drawing 
materials,  which  seemed  to  belong  to  her  in  some 
other  incarnation,  and  put  them  in  a  drawer.  It 
was* as  if  her  life  was  Phil's;  his  wound  hers. 


3H  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

She  wrote  the  promised  letter  to  Truckleford,  and 
then  she  prayed  for  Phil;  and  after  she  had  prayed 
to  the  God  above,  she  clenched  her  fists  and 
murmured:  "Will!  Must!"  in  the  face  of  all 
the  hard  little  gods  below  who  seem  to  get  a  good 
deal  out  of  the  hand  of  the  God  above. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION 

TWO  white  heads  bent  over  the  tombstones 
in  the  cemetery  at  Truckleford  and  talked 
genealogy;  two  white  heads  strolled  on  the 
lawn  and  had  tilts  in  theology,  or  sat  in  the 
library  and  discussed  English  and  American  view 
points.  The  vicar  of  Truckleford  believed  in  a 
State  church,  while  Dr.  Sanford  held  that  this 
meant  mixing  religion  and  politics,  which  was  a 
bad  business.  Sanford  of  England,  who  had 
cheeks  ruddy  from  the  moist  climate,  brought  his 
sentences  to  a  close  with  a  rising  inflection;  and 
Sanford  of  New  England  had  a  dry  complexion, 
with  sharp  little  wrinkles  around  his  eyes,  and 
brought  his  sentences  to  a  close  with  a  falling 
inflection.  They  seemed  a  trifle  strange  to  each 
other  at  times,  though  they  were  speaking  the 
same  language;  and  either  would  have  been 
highly  complimented  if  you  had  told  him  that  you 
recognised  him  for  the  Englishman  or  the  Ameri 
can  he  was  at  once  ?  They  rambled  from  philoso 
phy  to  politics,  from  scientific  versus  classical 
education  to  the  future  of  humanity  generally, 
rich  in  words  and  ideas  if  not  in  money. 

315 


316  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Then,  two  other  white  heads  pottered  about  the 
flower  and  kitchen  gardens,  both  clicking  their  knit 
ting  needles  industriously  for  soldiers  the  while. 
In  England,  roses  were  not  often  frost-killed  or 
burned  by  the  hot  sun  of  summer,  which  bright 
ened  the  sunflower  and  the  goldenrod  fringeing 
the  roadsides  with  yellow  in  autumn  at  home. 
Two  white  heads  discussed  the  servant  problem 
in  both  countries;  and  England  thought  it  pretty 
bad  at  home  until  she  heard  of  the  state  of  af 
fairs  in  America.  It  was  the  particular  care  of 
the  two  English  heads,  plotting  together  in  their 
nightly  conferences,  that  the  American  cousins 
should  feel  at  home  when  English  facility  in  this 
respect,  however  insular  and  offish  the  islanders 
may  seem  abroad,  requires  no  calculation. 

The  visit  at  last  come  true  had  the  aspect  of 
romance  under  the  circumstances.  It  required  a 
certain  amount  of  courage  for  Dr.  and  Mrs.  San- 
ford  to  cross  the  Atlantic  in  the  midst  of  sub 
marine  activity  quite  in  keeping  with  ancestral  Pil 
grim  daring  in  crossing  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

From  Jane  came  an  occasional  letter  on  the 
state  of  affairs  in  Longfield.  "  Things  can't  be 
right  personally  with  you  away,"  she  wrote.  "  I 
am  getting  too  fat  and  lazy  for  words.  But  things 
exteriorly,  as  Phil  would  say  when  he  got  hifalutin, 
are  just  the  same.  Garden  doing  fine  except  the 
cauliflowers,  which  look  peaked;  but  they  will 
pick  up,  Patrick  says,  as  cauliflowers  have  a  way 


PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    317 

of  looking  peaked  and  ragged  before  they  get 
a  start.  No  hyphenates  and  few  potato  bugs  in 
Longfield  this  year.  I  put  up  thirty  jars  of 
currant  jelly  and  it  looks  licking  good.  That  is 
more  than  you  can  eat;  but  sure,  unless  you  change 
your  habits,  it  isn't  more  than  you  can  give  away. 
I  expect  you're  putting  your  shoes  outside  your 
door  every  morning  to  be  blacked,  like  the  lords 
do.  Well,  when  you  come  home  you  will  find 
the  blacking-brush  in  the  same  old  place  and  that 
Jane  has  not  changed.  I  am  writing  a  letter  to 
Phil  himself.  With  best  regards, 

"  Your  truly,  JANE." 

There  was  one  subject  which  knit  the  cousin- 
ship  of  the  four  ever  closer — Phil.  The  local 
postmaster  was  convinced  that  there  was  no 
danger  of  one  officer  starving,  if  soldiers  could 
live  on  cake,  judging  by  the  number  of  packages 
which  went  through  the  parcels  post  to  Second 
Lieutenant  Philip  Sanford.  Their  thoughts  were 
those  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  other  house 
holds  in  England.  The  pride  of  it  for  the  vicar 
and  his  wife  was  that  they,  too,  had  a  son  at 
the  front.  They  would  not  waive  the  claim  that 
he  was  partly  theirs  and  their  guests  did  not 
ask  it.  Every  day  they  wrote  to  Phil,  and  his 
cheerful  letters  in  answer,  always  making  sport  of 
the  mud  and  minimising  the  dangers — long  letters 
when  the  battery  was  in  billets — brought  the  four 


3i3  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

heads  into  communion  of  spirit  whenever  the 
envelopes  arrived.  Always  there  was  the  fear — 
the  fear  over  hundreds  of  thousands  of  house 
holds,  no  less  poignant  in  each  because  of  the 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  others — the  fear  which 
they  never  mentioned  and  never  forgot. 

The  postman  brought  Helen's  letter,  the  only 
one  in  the  post  that  trip,  to  Dr.  Sanford  when 
he  was  alone  on  the  lawn,  thinking  that  a 
point  had  occurred  to  him  which  would  give  him 
the  better  of  the  argument  with  the  vicar  the 
next  time  they  resumed  a  certain  discussion. 
After  he  had  opened  the  envelope  and  read  the 
first  sentence,  he  folded  the  sheet  and  walked  away 
into  the  garden  to  be  undisturbed.  He  must  think 
how  to  break  the  news  to  his  wife. 

"  This  time  Cousin  Phil  is  not  writing  to  you 
himself,  but  I  am  writing  for  him,"  Helen  wrote. 
"  Though  I  have  never  seen  you,  it  seems  as  if  I 
knew  you  and  I  think,  as  Phil's  father  and  mother, 
you  are  the  kind  who  might  suffer  more  in  the  end 
if  some  of  the  truth  were  held  back  by  clever 
phrases  than  if  it  were  all  told  at  first.  He  loves 
you  so  much  and  you  love  him  so  much  that  it  is 
the  only  honest  way. 

"  He  is  as  whole  as  ever  in  body,  his  mind  quite 
clear,  despite  the  wound  in  his  jaw  from  a  shell- 
fragment;  but  he  must  remain  here  at  the  hospital 
for  many  months,  while  a  miracle  man  of  a  sur 
geon  will  make  his  jaw  as  good  as  ever.  As  the 


PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    319 

result  of  shell-shock  he  is  also,  for  the  moment, 
both  blind  and  deaf;  but  other  miracle  men  will 
bring  back  his  sight  and  hearing.  All  the  great 
ones  are  prepared  to  spoil  him  with  attention,  he 
is  so  brave. 

"  As  he  cannot  write  himself,  I  shall  write  for 
him  every  day.  But  you  must  not  be  impatient; 
as  these  modern  miracle  men,  unlike  the  Biblical 
ones,  must  take  time  to  perform  their  wonders. 
Write  him  as  many  letters  as  you  can  and  I'll  spell 
out  every  word  of  them  to  him.  Yes,  go  on  writ 
ing  just  as  if  he  were  making  a  fight  at  the  front 
and  that  will  help  him  in  the  new  fight  he  is 
making  in  the  dark  against  pain  and  for  you. 
When  he  returns  he  will  be  the  same  as  when 
he  left  you,  only  dearer  to  you  as  you  will  be  to 
him.  He  will  recover  completely.  Depend  on 
this." 

11  Brave  little  liar !  "  as  Bricktop  had  said.  Yet 
Helen  believed  every  word. 

Dr.  Sanford  continued  to  walk  up  and  down 
after  he  had  finished  the  letter.  Mrs.  Sanford, 
coming  out  of  doors  and  seeing  him,  knew  that 
something  had  happened  to  Phil,  though  the 
Doctor  looked  only  customarily  thoughtful  and 
calm.  She  went  toward  him,  followed  by  the 
vicar  and  his  wife;  they,  too,  divining  from  her 
attitude  that  tragedy  had  come  to  Truckleford. 

"I  am  ready!  What  is  it?"  asked  Mrs. 
Sanford. 


320  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

He  read  the  letter  aloud,  thinking  that  this 
would  soften  the  message  for  her.  She  listened 
with  a  white  face  and  still  eyes.  When  he  had 
finished  she  took  his  hands  in  hers;  then  in  silence 
the  two  started  walking  up  and  down,  arm  in 
arm.  Two  other  white  heads  in  the  background, 
quite  as  if  it  were  their  son,  also  walked  up  and 
down,  arm  in  arm.  Silent,  very  silent,  the  garden, 
except  for  the  occasional  hum  of  a  bee. 

The  mother  was  looking  the  worst  fairly  in  the 
face,  with  characteristic  fearlessness. 

"  We  have  a  little  money — enough  if " 

If  Phil  should  be  in  the  eternal  night  they  could 
care  for  him,  was  the  first  thought  of  her  love. 
But  after  they  were  gone 

The  other  two  white  heads  were  thinking  the 
same.  Phil  had  done  this  for  their  cause.  They 
had  a  little  money;  he  should  not  want.  When, 
finally,  the  first  two  came  toward  the  vicar,  he  was 
suddenly  mindful  that  Helen  had  written  the  let 
ter;  rather  than  Henriette — which  was  very  odd. 

"  She  would  state  all  the  truth,  Helen  would," 
said  the  vicar.  "  It's  her  merit.  She  could  not 
help  doing  so.  When  she  says  that  Phil  will  be 
as  right  as  ever  again,  you  may  depend  upon  it." 

"  We  do !  "  said  Phil's  mother.  "  He  will  get 
well!  He  must!  We'll  not  think  anything  else. 
He  will!  "  There  was  a  quiet,  tense  vitality  in 
her  declaration  akin  to  Helen's  own. 

"He  will!"  said  Dr.  Sanford. 


PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    321 

"  That  sounds  better,"  said  the  vicar.  "  It 
is  worthier  of  the  ancestors  and  Phil." 

"  We  must  go  to  him!  "  said  the  mother. 

The  next  morning  this  pair  of  old  children  set 
out,  holding  hands  in  the  compartment  a  good 
portion  of  the  way  to  London.  Cities  always 
confused  Dr.  Sanford.  Only  the  call  to  his  son 
would  have  given  him  courage  to  enter  the  portals 
of  that  sombre  War  Office,  which  was  only  one 
of  many  doors  whence  he  took  his  plea. 

Every  one  was  sorry  and  kindly,  too,  when  they 
looked  over  the  old  clergyman  and  he  told  his 
tale.  If  they  let  one  parent  go  to  a  great  hospital 
in  the  military  zone  in  France,  then  they  would 
have  to  let  thousands;  but  one  official,  with  a 
sly  wink,  suggested  that  he  get  a  note  from  his 
Ambassador.  Going  to  the  Embassy  simply  as 
an  American  gentleman,  without  any  letters  of 
introduction,  he  waited  in  the  reception-room  a 
long  time  till  somebody  returned  from  luncheon; 
and  the  somebody,  who  was  a  young  person  with 
a  Burke's  Peerage  under  his  arm,  said  that  it  was 
quite  out  of  the  question  for  the  Embassy  to 
interest  itself  in  his  case. 

"  It's  the  rules,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Sanford. 

"  Yes.  We  can't  go  behind  the  rules,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

It  was  a  sad  journey  for  the  old  children  back 
to  Truckleford  and  their  hand-clasp  was  tighter 
than  "before  as  they  looked  out  at  the  hedges  slip- 


322  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

ping  by.  Awaiting  them  were  letters  from  Helen, 
long  letters,  less  matter-of-fact  than  the  first  one, 
with  a  chant  of  optimism  running  through  the 
sentences;  and  a  telegram  from  Peter  Smithers, 
who  had  arrived  at  Liverpool  and  was  coming  to 
see  them. 

Automobiles  were  difficult  of  hire  in  England 
then;  yet  Peter  arrived  in  one,  a  high-powered 
one  at  that.  How  could  he  travel  by  train  when 
he  was  on  the  verge  of  poverty  from  keeping  up 
that  miserable  little  farm?  The  way  he  came 
through  the  gate  heralded  a  dynamic  advent  at 
the  vicarage. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir,  and  you,  too,  Mrs. 
Sanford!"  he  said.  "Suppose  you  four  have 
all  the  ancestors  looked  up  and  card-indexed  by 
this  time.  And  what  about  Phil?  Still  wallowing 
in  the  mud  for  the  pleasure  of  being  shot  at? 
What!  " 

The  look  in  all  four  faces  drew  a  sharp,  pene 
tratingly  anxious  exclamation  from  him. 

"  Tell  me  !  "  he  demanded,  and  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  man  had  changed  in  an  instant.  '  Tell 
me!" 

He  dropped  in  a  chair  at  the  news;  but  no 
sooner  was  he  down  than  he  jumped  up,  jerking  a 
cigar  out  of  his  pocket  and  chewing  at  it  as  he 
began  pacing  back  and  forth  with  pounding  steps. 

"  Bricktop  can  do  it  if  anybody  can!  "  he  said 
excitedly.  "  I'd  back  Bricktop  against  anybody  or 


PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    323 

anything!  Bricktop  over  there  operating  on 
Phil !  It's  a  small  world.  Bricktop  will  do  it;  and 
if  there  aren't  specialists  over  there  big  enough 
to  bring  back  Phil's  sight  and  hearing,  we'll  get 
them,  by  George !  "  Peter  took  another  turn, 
chewing  at  his  cigar,  and  then  whirled  around. 
Decision  was  in  his  eyes  and  in  every  one  of  the 
definite  wrinkles  of  his  face.  "  I  know  what 
you've  been  thinking — if  the  worst  should  hap 
pen!  " 

"  Yes,  we  had!  "  admitted  Mrs.  Sanford. 

"But  it  won't,  not  to  Phil!  He'll  pull  out. 
George !  I'd  have  given  a  thousand  to  have  seen 
him  knock  that  Prussian  down !  Whatever  hap 
pens,  I  want  you  to  know  that  all  I  have  is  back 
of  him  and  every  cent  I  have,  if  that  farm  doesn't 
break  me,  goes  to  him — and  there's  three  mil 
lions,  anyway." 

Let  it  be  recorded  that  the  effect  of  this  sudden 
declaration  on  four  white  heads  was  indescribable, 
particularly  on  the  vicar  and  his  wife,  who  had  a 
feeling  that  they  were  witnessing  some  sort 
of  a  Christmas-time  extravaganza.  Phil's  mother 
said  that  it  was  quite  in  keeping  with  Peter's  repu 
tation  for  making  vital  decisions  promptly.  At 
the  same  time  she  only  gasped,  u  Peter!  "  while 
Dr.  Sanford  blinked  like  one  who  tries  to  look 
the  sun  in  the  face. 

"  Surprises  you  !  I  expect  it  is  surprising,"  said 
Peter.  "  Never  had  any  other  idea  since  he  was  a 


324  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

little  shaver.  Always  had  my  eye  on  him,  but 
wasn't  going  to  ruin  him  by  making  him  think  he 
didn't  have  to  go  out  and  clean  cattle  cars  and 
knock  down  Prussians  on  his  own  account. 
Wanted  to  leave  my  fortune  to  a  man,  and  the 
way  to  become  a  man  is  to  go  out  and  scratch 
gravel.  Was  kind  of  backing  him  when  Ledyard 
took  him  on,  but  don't  you  tell  him;  it  would 
make  him  mad.  Now  Ledyard  says  he  won't  let 
him  go;  but  Ledyard  doesn't  own  the  whole 
United  States.  Remember  last  time  I  saw  Phil 
and  I  was  talking  about  my  employees'  clubhouse 
— he  gave  me  such  a  slam  that  my  indignation 
was  real." 

Misfortune  to  Phil  had  cracked  the  Smithers 
burr  and  revealed  the  sweet  kernel  inside. 

«  Peter,  I " 


Peter,  we- 


The  Longfield  Sanfords  were  at  last  trying  to 
utter  their  thanks.  As  for  the  Truckleford  San- 
fords,  they  still  expected  to  see  Peter  toss  a  rope 
skyward  and  climb  up  it  out  of  sight. 

"  Bless  you  for  a  pair  of  the  best  old  dears  that 
ever  lived!  "  said  Peter.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
your  father,  Doctor,  I  might  be  holding  Bill 
Hurley's  job  driving  the  local  'bus.  Now,  what 
you  want  to  do  is  to  get  to  Phil,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes!  Oh,  above  everything!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sanford. 


PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    325 

"  I  gadded  all  over  London  trying,"  said  the 
Doctor,  who  narrated  his  experiences. 

"  That  baby  boy  at  the  Embassy,  with  his  little 
accent  and  his  little  moustache  turned  up,  and 
afraid  he  might  slip  on  his  little  shadow,  that's 
Levering's  son,"  said  Peter.  "  Levering  started 
driving  a  donkey  in  a  mine  and  left  about  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  and  got  heart  disease 
making  it,  while  his  wife  was  in  Paris.  She 
couldn't  stay  at  home  in  Cokeville  because  she 
had  no  social  standing  there.  He  used  to  see  her 
once  a  year,  if  he  could  spare  two  weeks  to  cross 
the  pond.  But  I'm  wasting  a  lot  of  words  on  him, 
though  it's  time  somebody  gave  him  a  twist.  Now, 
I'll  go  back  to  London  to-night." 

"  But  you  must  stay  to  dinner !  "  begged  the 
vicar. 

"  Sorry.  But  we  want  to  see  Phil.  Is  there 
a  telegraph  office  here?  Good!  Might  as  well 
start  things  moving.  I'll  get  dinner  at  one 
of  those  little  inns.  First-rate  meat  and  pota 
toes;  that's  all  a  man  wants — only  the  English 
never  season  anything.  Put  a  pile  of  salt  on  the 
side  of  their  plate  and  dab  every  mouthful  in  it, 
which  means  irregular  distribution  and  a  waste  of 
time." 

He  was  shaking  hands  all  around  preparatory 
to  going,  when  he  had  a  reminder. 

"  I  want  to  see  that  ancestor  of  ours,"  he  said. 
"Mine  by  adoption!  You  don't  mind?  I  see 


326  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

your  family  isn't  large  and  there  ought  to  be 
enough  of  him  to  go  round." 

"  We  welcome  you!  "  said  the  vicar,  chuckling. 
This  interest  in  genealogy  convinced  him  that 
both  Peter  and  the  three  millions  must  be  real. 

Peter  looked  the  ancestor  over  with  the  eye 
of  one  who  knows  men. 

"I'm  proud  of  him!"  he  concluded,  with  a 
wink  to  the  vicar.  '  You  can  see  that  he  had  his 
teeth  set  firmly  in  their  sockets.  Most  ancestors 
have,  and  those  of  later  generations  get  wiggly. 
Well,  I'm  off!" 

When  Peter  had  gone  four  white  heads  gazed 
at  one  another  and  swallowed  and  gazed.  Three 
million  dollars  !  Peter  confessed  it !  And  all  for 
Phil! 

"  Hm-m — let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag!"  he 
mused  on  his  way  to  London.  "  Couldn't  help 
it!  Enjoyed  it!  What  the  professors  call  the 
psychological  moment!  Enjoyed  keeping  it  secret 
before — enjoyed  letting  it  go.  Phil  will  keep 
that  farm  running  after  I'm  gone — if  it  doesn't 
break  me  before  I  pass  over  the  border." 

Now  Peter  did  not  go  to  the  War  Office  and 
beat  a  table  and  argue;  but  he  set  things  in  mo 
tion  by  sending  cablegrams  and  telegrams.  He 
did  not  even  send  up  his  card  to  the  Ambassador 
until  the  Ambassador  had  received  messages  from 
four  United  States  senators,  from  the  man  to 
whom  he  owed  his  appointment,  and  from  the 


PETER  SMITHERS  IN  ACTION    327 

Secretary  of  State,  that  Peter  Smithers  was  in 
London.  Nobody  was  out  at  luncheon  when  he 
went  to  the  Embassy,  where  he  was  at  once  given 
a  note  to  some  one  on  high  who  would  immedi 
ately  communicate  to  some  one  at  the  War  Office. 
But  before  leaving  he  reminded  the  Ambassador 
that  one  of  the  Embassy  chore-boys,  ought  to  be 
taught  civility  as  well  as  manners. 

Nor  did  Peter  go  to  the  War  Office  until  the 
General  who  was  above  the  General  who  was 
above  the  General  that  Phil  had  first  seen  also 
had  heard  from  several  quarters  about  the  im 
portance  of  Peter  Smithers.  The  Great  One  at 
the  War  Office  was  most  cordial,  and  Peter  talked 
to  him  as  if  he  were  used  to  meeting  Great  Ones. 
Both  were  leaders  and  organisers  of  men. 

"  I  think  there  will  be  no  difficulty,"  said  the 
Great  One.  "  We'll  make  a  special  case  of  it  on 
account  of  his  having  to  remain  a  long  time  at  a 
base  hospital  in  France.  I'd  heard  about  that 
young  man  before.  Fine  chap !  Hope  he'll  pull 
through.  A  relative  of  yours?  " 

"  Nephew!  "  Peter  replied  truthfully. 

Hadn't  he  formally  adopted  himself  as  Phil's 
uncle  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  THOUGHT  FOR   HELEN" 

«-p\RICKTOP!" 
^        "Peter!" 

They  took  a  grappling  hold  of  each 
other,  as  if  about  to  engage  in  a  wrestling  match 
to  prove  which  was  the  more  jubilant  over  this 
meeting;  for  Peter  was  a  man  after  Bricktop's 
own  heart  and  Bricktop  after  Peter's. 

"  You're  red-headed  as  ever!  "  said  Peter. 

"What  did  you  expect?  That  I'd  dip  my 
locks  in  a  dye-barrel?  Needed  all  the  red  I  had 
and  some  more  to  deal  with  some  of  the  stick- 
in-the-muds,  who  would  not  believe  that  I  am  a 
surgeon.  Say,  but  you're  good  for  sore  eyes  and 
nostalgia !  " 

"  Think  of  you  being  over  here  and  oper 
ating  on  Phil !  "  Peter  held  William  Smith, 
D.  D.  S.,  off  at  arm's  length  in  respectful  admira 
tion. 

"  If  you  hadn't  sent  me  that  twenty  thousand 
I  wouldn't  have  had  the  equipment  for  the  job," 
Bricktop  replied. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  that  twenty  thousand — 
maybe  it's  saved  Phil !  " 

328 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN        329 

"  Exactly  what  I  do  mean !  " 

"  Think  of  that!  "  Peter  swallowed  hard  and 
blinked.  "  But  don't  you  tell  him  about  it — not 
yet.  Here  I  am  talking,  when  there  is  somebody 
outside  that "  He  did  not  finish  his  sen 
tence,  but  drew  Bricktop  out  of  his  office  into  the 
reception-room,  where  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford 
were  waiting. 

"  I  don't  need  any  introduction.  You're  his 
father  and  mother!  "  Bricktop  exclaimed. 

'  Yes,  we  are  here,  thanks  to  Peter,"  said  Mrs. 
Sanford.  "  He  has  a  wonderful  way  of  managing 
things." 

"Peter  was  born  to  manage  things!"  said 
Bricktop.  "  He  gave  me  my  start." 

"  Just  as  Dr.  Sanford's  father  gave  me  mine. 
And  we  are  here  because  Phil's  is  a  special  case 
which  cannot  be  moved  over  to  England.  Merely 
had  to  make  the  authorities  see  the  light.  But 
it  seems  to  me,  Bricktop,  you  and  I  are  doing  a 
lot  of  gassing,  when  what  we  want  is  to  see  Phil. 
How  is  he  getting  on?  " 

Peter  had  hesitated  to  put  that  question,  think 
ing  of  what  this  day  meant  to  the  Sanfords. 
Bricktop  looked  into  the  honest,  serene  eyes  of  the 
old  pair  and  seeing  that  they  were  not  afraid  of 
it,  told  the  truth. 

"  In  two  or  three  days  I'll  come  to  the  big  test," 
he  said.  "  If  that  operation  succeeds,  the  rest 
will* be  easy." 


330  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Then  a  soft  voice,  which  had  the  very  melody 
of  cheer,  added: 

"  And  it  will  succeed!  " 

Helen,  coming  into  the  room,  had  overheard 
Bricktop's  opinion,  and  impulsively  reinforced  it 
with  her  faith.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford  for  the 
first  time  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  woman  who 
had  written  to  them  for  Phil  and  about  Phil. 
Their  transparent  depths  reflected  the  quality 
which  they  had  associated  with  her.  Something 
told  her  that  she  was  not  plain  to  them,  and  the 
thought  gave  her  a  thrill  of  happiness. 

"What  beautiful  eyes!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Sanford  involuntarily.  '  They  are  like  your 
spirit !  " 

"  I "  Helen  flushed.  No  one  had  ever 

said  this  to  her  except  the  old  artist  teacher.  That 
any  one  should  think  that  anything  about  her  was 
beautiful! 

"  I'm  afraid  I  was  personal!  "  murmured  Mrs. 
Sanford;  and  both  were  embarrassed. 

"  It  was  a  very  nice  way  to  be  personal,"  Helen 
stammered,  finding  her  smile.  "  How  happy  he 
will  be  to  see  you !  How  he  loves  you !  " 

"And  his  sight  and  hearing  and  speech?" 
asked  Mrs.  Sanford. 

"  A  long  treatment,  but  they  will  come  back," 
replied  Helen. 

She  led  the  way  into  the  ward  where  Phil  was  in 
a  big  chair,  a  comely  figure  of  youth  up  to  his  chin. 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN       331 

The  rest  of  him  was  a  ball  of  white,  with  a  harness 
of  silver  woven  in  with  bandages  for  his  lower 
face,  and  bandages  over  his  eyes. 

"  Your  father  and  mother  have  come,"  Helen 
wrote  on  his  arm. 

They  sat  down  without  any  demonstration,  one 
on  each  side  of  his  chair,  and  each  took  one  of 
his  hands,  receiving  a  strong  answering  clasp. 
Peter  "  filled  up,"  as  he  put  up,  and  went  out  into 
the  court  to  pace  up  and  down.  When  he  re 
turned  they  were  in  the  same  position. 

This  hand  in  his  own  left  hand  Phil  knew  was 
his  father's,  because  it  was  larger  and  bonier  than 
the  one  in  his  right,  which  was  soft  and  yielding. 
He  was  thinking  of  Longfield;  seeing  the  village 
street  under  the  old  elms,  the  garden  and  the 
porch,  and  the  glory  of  sunrise  and  sunset  in  the 
Berkshires;  relieving  the  joys  of  sight.  In  turn, 
in  that  silent  communion,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford 
saw  him  coming  up  the  path  to  the  porch  at  all 
ages  and  on  all  occasions. 

"  That  wiggle  of  his  right  foot,"  said  Helen, 
"  means  that  he  wants  to  talk.  "  Oh,  we've  devel 
oped  a  remarkable  code  and  we've  not  gone  in  for 
the  blind  raised  letters  because  he  never  will  need 
them." 

She  brought  a  pencil,  which  she  slipped  between 
his  fingers,  and  a  pad,  which  she  fixed  on  a  slant 
ing  table  fastened  to  the  chair. 

"  He's  becoming  wonderfully  good  at  it,"  she 


332  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

said,  "  though  at  first  he  was  always  get 
ting  off  the  track  and  writing  one  line  over 
another." 

Slowly  but  quite  clearly  he  wrote  his  big  letters 
on  small  pages,  which  Helen  passed  to  the  father 
and  mother. 

"  Some  family  reunion,  this !  It  is  a  cinch  that 
I  get  well — father,  pardon  the  language !  " 

This  was  the  first  sheet.  The  two  looked  at 
each  other  and  smiled.  "It's  Phil,  all  right!" 
murmured  Peter,  echoing  their  thoughts. 

"  When  I  get  my  new  countenance,  new  eyes 
and  ears,  and  descend  on  Longfield,  even  Jane 
will  admit  I'm  grown  up.  I  am  going  to  show 
Hanks  that  he  is  not  the  only  one  who  can  branch 
out  " — this  on  the  second  sheet. 

"  Peter  arranged  it  so  you  could  come,  I  hear," 
came  the  third.  "  Tell  him  he  has  been  so  kind 
that  I  almost  regret  I  did  not  go  to  work  for 
him  and  ruin  his  business." 

There  was  something  very  like  a  snort  from  the 
direction  of  Peter,  who  was  caught  grinning  when 
the  others  looked  around. 

"  Tell  Bill  Hurley,  who  is  for  the  Allies  but 
a  pessimist  about  their  chances,  that  the  Allies  are 
going  to  win  the  war.  And  you  are  coming  often, 
aren't  you?  Won't  they  let  you?  This  conversa 
tion  is  getting  one-sided."  He  pulled  up  his 
sleeve,  which  was  a  signal  to  Helen. 

"  Yes,"  she  wrote,  at  Dr.  Sanford's  dictation. 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN       333 

"  Peter  has  got  a  little  house  for  us  and  permission 
to  stay  near  you." 

"This  is  just  simply  HAPPINESS  "—Phil 
spelled  out  the  word  in  capitals.  "  Tell  Peter  he 
is  certainly  some  arranger.  Isn't  he  going  to 
come  and  see  me,  too?" 

Peter  was  swallowing  hard — a  habit  that  he 
had  formed  since  he  had  arrived  at  the  hospital. 
He  advanced  to  Phil's  side. 

"  Peter  is  here,"  Helen  wrote. 

Phil's  hand  went  out,  searching  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  Peter's  leapt  toward  it  and  the  two 
clasped  in  a  firm,  prolonged  grip. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  that  every  cent  I  have  is  his, 
when  he  expected  nothing?  "  Peter  put  the  ques 
tion  to  Helen. 

She  knew  only  the  vague  outline  of  their  story, 
yet  understood  the  principle  involved,  and  she 
hesitated.  Peter  studied  her  face  with  his  shrewd 
glance. 

"  I  guess  not,"  he  said.  "  He's  fighting  for 
something  worth  more  than  three  millions  and 
money  won't  make  a  fellow  of  Phil's  calibre  fight 
any  harder.  I  guess  it  would  be  kind  of  cheap 
to  do  it  now.  I'll  wait  till  he  can  see  me,  or  till 
we  know  that  he  is  not  going  to " 

"  He  will!  "  put  in  Helen  sharply. 

"  Say,"  Peter  said  admiringly,  "  they  ought  to 
put  you  in  command  of  an  army  corps  out  there ! 


334  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

You've  got  the  kind  of  spirit  that  would  break  the 
line." 

"  Spirit  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  Helen  re 
plied.  "  It  is  simply  a  fact." 

"I'd  make  it  the  whole  army!"  said  Peter, 
who  belonged  to  the  school  which  believes  that 
if  you  make  up  your  mind  to  do  a  thing  you  will 
do  it. 

Phil  was  writing  again,  his  fingers  moving  more 
rapidly  than  usual,  his  writing  less  distinct,  as  if 
he  were  under  the  pressure  of  strong  emotion : 

"  I  should  have  slipped  if  it  had  not  been  for 
her.  It  is  a  thing  one  can't  talk  about — the  great 
thing  of  all,  that  makes  me  bear  the  pain  and 
make  the  fight — what  Henriette  has  done  for 
me." 

"  Henriette !  " 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford  and  Peter  uttered  the 
word  together  and  stared  involuntarily  at  Helen, 
in  blank  inquiry.  She  looked  away  quickly  at  the 
floor  and  murmured : 

"Yes,  Henriette!" 

There  was  a  silence  then,  while  she  took  the  pad 
and  pencil  from  Phil  and  removed  the  little  table, 
which  provided  her  with  the  relief  of  movement. 

"  Not  too  much  at  one  time,  lest  we  tire  him," 
she  said. 

She  went  with  them  through  the  court,  where 
the  seeing  men  in  their  pain  watched  them  pass 
ing;  and  on  the  way  her  glance  hovered  into  theirs 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN        335 

beseechingly  and  her  lips  were  parted  as  if  about 
to  speak,  but  she  could  not  find  words  until  they 
were  on  the  path. 

"  You  would  make  me  any  promise,  wouldn't 
you,"  she  asked,  "  in  order  to  save  him?  " 

Now  she  told  the  secret  which  only  she  and 
Henriette  knew,  how  she  had  been  mistaken  for 
her  sister. 

"  You  must  not  undeceive  him,  or  think  of  it, 
or  speak  of  it!  You  will  promise?  " 

Her  nostrils  were  quivering  and  her  eyes  had 
the  steady  light  of  command.  As  they  nodded, 
the  father  and  mother  felt  a  trifle  in  awe  of  her, 
this  woman  in  a  warrior's  mood  who  had  been  a 
link  between  them  and  their  son.  She  gave  them 
a  smile  of  thanks;  then,  in  the  flutter  of  an  im 
pulse,  kissed  Mrs.  Sanford  on  the  cheeks  and 
abruptly  started  back  to  the  ward,  where  she  gave 
Phil  a  hand-clasp  to  signal  her  return  and  two 
clasps  to  learn  if  he  wanted  anything.  He  asked 
for  his  pad: 

"  It's  pretty  hard  on  them.  Did  I  cheer  them 
up?" 

"  Yes,  and  they  know  that  you  are  going  to 
get  well." 

"  Good!  Aren't  they  dears?  Shall  we  take  a 
constitutional?  It  tired  the  old  head-piece  a  little, 
all  that  excitement." 

The  constitutionals  were  promenades  up  and 
down  the  court,  with  digressions  sometimes  out 


336  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

onto  the  paths  when  he  felt  particularly  venture 
some.  Her  arm  through  his,  wheeling  on  him  as 
a  pivot  when  they  came  to  the  turns,  he  feeling 
the  touch  of  her  hand  upon  his  wrist,  she  realising 
the  helplessness  of  that  tall  form  without  some 
one  to  guide  it,  they  had  paced  back  and  forth  so 
many  times  now  that  these  promenades  had  be 
come  a  part  of  their  existence.  His  silence  she 
must  share.  They  might  think  each  his  own 
thoughts  in  the  nearness,  the  interdependence,  of 
that  strange  companionship.  Sometimes  he  car 
ried  on  imaginary  conversations  with  her  and  she 
with  him;  and  the  great  things  to  both  were  the  un 
spoken  things,  rather  than  those  written  on  his 
arm  or  on  the  pad.  When  the  revelation  should 
come  that  she  was  not  Henriette — but  Helen 
never  thought  of  that.  It  was  the  bridge  on  the 
other  side  of  the  promised  land  of  his  recovery. 

She  was  not  surprised  when  she  saw  Henriette 
enter  the  court  just  as  they  were  turning  toward 
the  ward.  Henriette  came  faithfully  every  day 
to  inquire  how  he  was  and  reported  her  visit  at 
dinner  with  Lady  Truckleford's  lot.  These  were 
practically  the  only  occasions  when  the  sisters 
met.  Henriette's  manner  was  that  of  affectionate 
sympathy  for  Helen  and  pity  for  Phil. 

"  His  father  and  mother  have  been  to  see 
him?" 

"  Yes.     It  made  him  very  happy." 

"  And  Peter  Smithers  was  with  them?  " 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN        337 

11  Yes." 

Phil,  who  knew  only  that  Helen  had  stopped  to 
speak  with  some  one,  had  no  means  of  knowing 
v/ho.  She  was  the  same  to  him  as  any  other 
person  of  millions  in  his  silent  night,  unseen,  un- 
hsard.  His  circle  of  actual  human  beings  con 
sisted  of  Helen,  or  Henriette,  as  he  thought, 
Bricktop,  the  nurses,  the  specialists,  and  now 
his  parents  and  Peter.  They  were  the  visible 
stars  in  the  darkness.  And  Helen  was  taking  him 
back  to  his  chair  now. 

'  You've  heard  that  Smithers  will  leave  all 
his  fortune  to  Cousin  Phil,  willy-nilly?"  said 
Henriette,  following  them  indoors.  "  Mother 
wrote  it  from  Paris.  She  had  it  from  Truckle- 
ford." 

"  Only  they  have  not  told  him,"  Helen  said. 

"  Why  not?  I  should  think  that  if  there  were 
anything  that  would  make  him  want  to  live  it 
would  be  the  thought  that  he  was  to  have  three 
millions." 

"  Mr.  Smithers  decided  not,"  Helen  replied. 

"  And  how  has  he  stood  the  day?  "  Henriette 
asked  the  stereotyped  question  of  her  sister. 

'  Very  well !  "  was  the  answer.  "  I'm  afraid  it 
may  have  tired  and  excited  him,  though."  She 
was  careful  not  to  let  him  overtax  himself;  and 
now,  when  he  wanted  his  pad,  she  added:  "I 
must  .not  let  him  write  much." 

If  Henriette  prolonged  her  visits  it  was  when 


338  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Helen  was  writing  him  messages  or  he  was 
writing  to  her.  The  process  seemed  to  fascinate 
her. 

"  There  is  a  question  I  want  to  ask,"  Phil 
wrote.  "  I  have  wondered  about  it  a  good  deal. 
Helen  never  sends  me  any  messages.  She  has  not 
even  shaken  my  hand  and  said  hello  to  her 
seventeenth  cousin.  I  can't  see  her  new  car 
toons,  but  I  remember  all  of  her  old  ones.  Tell 
me!" 

Henriette  had  been  looking  over  his  shoulder 
as  he  wrote,  Helen  standing  to  one  side  till  he 
had  finished  the  first  sheet.  A  number  of  times 
before  he  had  asked  where  Helen  was,  and 
after  a  strange  thrill  that  dried  her  throat  she  had 
replied: 

"  Drawing  and  in  her  ward.  She  inquires 
about  you  every  day." 

It  was  Henriette  who  reached  for  the  first 
sheet  this  time.  When  he  had  finished  the  second 
sheet  she  passed  both  to  Helen,  with  a  studious 
inquiry  on  her  face  and  without  speaking.  Then 
she  looked  around  the  room.  It  was  empty,  save 
for  one  form  asleep  on  a  cot  in  the  far  corner. 
Helen  did  not  look  up.  She  was  motionless,  star 
ing  at  the  sheets.  He  was  hurt  because  she  had 
never  shaken  his  hand — she  who  had  no  thought 
except  him!  And,  yes,  he  had  thought  of  her 
for  herself  a  little — a  part  of  his  kindness  even 
when  he  was  racked  with  pain.  She  folded  the 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN        339 

sheets  gently,  but  without  the  stir  of  so  much  as 
an  eyelash,  when  Henriette's  voice  brought  her 
out  of  her  daze. 

"  The  hoax  seems  complete,"  said  Henriette. 
"  He  is  wholly  convinced  that  you  are  I." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen.  "  You  wished  it,  didn't 
you,  and  it  has  helped  him — yes,  he  has  said  that 
it  kept  him  alive  !  " 

"  Kept  him  alive !  "  repeated  Henriette,  in  a 
monotone. 

"  Yes,  you,  not  I,  kept  him  alive !  " 

When  people  knew  this !  Henriette  was  think 
ing  of  the  Lady  Truckleford  lot.  There  were 
pitfalls  ahead  which  she  had  not  foreseen. 

"Why  didn't  you  undeceive  him?"  she  de 
manded. 

"  I — I  could  not.  It  meant  so  much  to  him. 
As  soon  as  he  is  well  then  I  shall  tell  him." 

"  And  if  he  never  gets  well " 

"  He  will!  "  Helen  insisted.  "  But  taking  the 
view  that  he  will  not,"  she  added,  "  only  his  father 
and  mother  know  and  Peter  Smithers.  They 
found  it  out  inadvertently  and  have  sworn  to  keep 
the  secret."  Henriette  half  closed  her  eyes 
thoughtfully  as  the  two  sisters  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  It  seems  safe,"  breathed  Henriette,  raising 
her  lashes  and  smiling  in  relief. 

Phil  was  writing  again  : 

"  You  do  not  answer.     Helen  wrote  only  one 


340  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

letter  to  me  while  I  was  at  the  front.  I  fear  that 
I  have  offended  her.  Won't  you  tell  me?  " 

"  I — I  must  explain  in  some  way!  "  said  Helen. 

"  Let  me !  "  Henriette  interposed.  "  I've 
never  tried  writing  on  his  arm,  but  I  think  that  I 
know  how  from  watching  you." 

She  rolled  up  his  sleeve  and  taking  his  hand 
to  hold  up  the  arm,  as  she  had  seen  Helen  do, 
traced  the  letters,  slowly  announcing  each  word 
as  she  wrote  it: 

"  This  is  Helen.  She  has  just  come  to  see  you 
and  has  come  often  and  thinks  that  you  are  mak 
ing  the  bravest  kind  of  a  fight." 

He  caught  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  shook 
it  warmly  in  his  happiness. 

"  You  don't  write  as  well  as  Henriette,"  he 
wrote  in  reply,  "  but  I  have  a  lot  of  experience 
and  could  read  it.  What  are  you  drawing? 
What  cartoons  are  you  making?  What  mischief 
are  you  up  to  generally?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  I  can  write  better.  Now 
I  shall  be  going  so  as  not  to  tire  you.  Good 
night!" 

She  gave  his  hand  another  clasp  and  turned  to 
Helen,  smiling,  as  she  said:  "  I'm  in  your  place, 
now,  as  well  as  you  being  in  mine  !  "  not  forgetting 
to  press  her  lips  to  Helen's  before  withdrawing. 

She  had  gone  through  it  all  with  a  graceful 
facility  and  self-command,  while  Helen  had  found 
herself  unable  even  to  murmur  "  Good-night." 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN       341 

For  an  instant,  again  alone  with  Phil,  she  felt 
that  she  also  was  groping  in  a  noiseless  and  sight 
less  world  and  that  she,  too,  was  maimed.  Hen- 
riette  was  beautiful — oh,  very  beautiful!  It  was 
no  wonder  that  men  fell  in  love  with  her.  Just 
to  look  at  her  must  make  any  man  want  to  live. 
Only  to  the  blind  could  she  herself  be  beautiful. 
If  his  sight  should  come  back,  it  would  be  the  end 
of  the  walks  in  the  court  and  the  writing  of  mes 
sages  for  him.  There  was  dreadful  mockery  in 
the  thought  when  he  became  well  he  might  think 
that  she  who  had  shared  his  pain  in  the  dark 
night  cared  more  for  making  cartoons  than  for 
him.  For  an  instant  revolt  flamed  up  in  her  mind; 
but  only  for  an  instant.  It  was  smothered  by  the 
appeal  of  his  helplessness  as  she  looked  around  at 
him. 

Now  he  began  writing  again,  and  her  thoughts 
were  bound  up  in  his  finger-ends,  in  the  glow  of  the 
comradeship  which  was  sufficient  unto  itself  from 
day  to  day.  She  had  learned  to  tell  his  mood  and 
if  the  pain  were  particularly  bad  by  the  way  he 
wrote.  The  letters  were  coming  slowly,  ponder- 
ingly,  from  his  pencil-point.  Something  puzzled 
him.  She  looked  over  his  shoulder  just  as  his 
first  sentence  was  finished. 

"  Her  message  did  not  sound  like  Helen,"  he 
had  written. 

Every  nerve  taut  with  suspense,  she  waited  with 
quick  breaths  for  what  was  to  follow. 


342  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

'  There  was  a  certain  style  about  everything 
that  she  did  and  said.  I  think  that  I  could  tell 
her  hand  from  yours  since  I  have  become  so 
sensitive  to  touch;  though  I  suppose  that  with  all 
the  pain  and  the  blindness  I  imagine  all  sorts  of 
things  which  are  not  real." 

A  leaping  something  within  her  that  was  for 
the  moment  irresistible,  quick  desire  shining  in 
her  eyes,  made  her  stretch  out  her  hands  toward 
him.  Then  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  and 
she  checked  herself  in  the  reaction  of  one  who 
finds  herself  on  the  verge  of  treason.  What  might 
have  been  the  effect  on  him  if  she  told  him  the 
truth !  All  her  work  might  have  been  undone. 
She  gathered  her  wits,  mastered  her  emotion,  and 
lashed  them  together  with  her  will. 

"  It's  time  for  you  to  close  the  writing  and 
thinking  shop  for  the  day,"  she  wrote  on  his  arm; 
but  when  she  started  to  take  his  pencil  and  pad 
he  clung  to  them.  He  had  something  more  which 
he  must  say,  and  it  was  best  to  yield  to  his  wish, 
as  she  had  learned. 

"  The  shutters  of  darkness  are  always  down  on 
that  shop,"  he  wrote,  "  but  there  is  always  a  light 
within — you  !  " 

A  glow  came  into  her  cheeks  at  the  compliment. 
The  light  was  the  face  of  Henriette,  her  charm 
and  grace,  and  the  labour  of  Helen.  It  proved 
the  wickedness  of  the  impulse  to  tell  him  the 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN        343 

truth.  How  dependent  he  was  upon  Henriette 
in  his  fight! 

"  Now,  that  writing  and  thinking  shop  idea  was 
like  Helen,"  he  was  thinking — and  thinking  was 
much  faster  than  writing  and  gave  lazy  minds 
more  freedom  to  wander.  "  Isn't  it  odd?  No, 
it's  because  I  can't  hear  or  speak  or  see — and  I 
am  tired." 

"Good-night!"  said  her  hand-clasp  out  there 
in  the  darkness,  but  bringing  her  very  near  him. 

"  Good-night!  "  his  return  clasp  signalled  back. 
Soon  he  was  dozing.  The  pain  was  not  sharp  just 
then.  He  was  nearly  healed  enough  for  another 
operation. 

"  He  ought  to  sleep  well,"  Helen  said  to  the 
night  nurse  as  she  went  out,  with  a  peculiar  relief 
in  going,  such  as  she  had  never  felt  before. 

When  she  reached  her  room,  for  the  first  time 
since  she  had  put  them  away  the  night  after  the 
ambulance  brought  Phil  to  the  hospital  she  took 
her  drawing  materials  out  of  her  trunk,  in  answer 
to  some  tangent  demand  of  the  distraction  that 
possessed  her,  only  to  put  them  back  in  and  the 
unanswered  demands  of  editors  with  them,  as  if 
she  had  no  concern  with  them  now.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  keep  on  marching  and  fight 
ing,  without  bothering  what  bridges  were  to  be 
ciossed  on  the  other  side  of  the  promised  land 
of  his  recovery. 

Phil  had  no  idea  how  long  he  had  dozed  when 


344  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

the  head  pain  devil,  who  sat  on  the  point  of  his 
jaw  directing  the  operations  of  all  the  little  devils 
on  the  lines  of  communication,  prodded  him 
awake.  For  him  the  little  pain  devils  were  articu 
late.  He  lived  in  a  world  of  imagined  voices. 

"What  if  you  should  never  get  well?  What 
if  we  should  keep  you  always?"  said  the  Fiend 
General  Commanding.  "  We  are  a  trifle  weak 
now,  but  you  wait  till  after  the  next  operation. 
Then  we  shall  have  a  rare  old  dance  of  it.  What 
if  it  should  be  just  one  operation  and  another  and 
another  forever?  Let  your  wounds  heal  and  get 
back  your  strength,  only  for  another  bout!  What 
if  you  should  never  see  green  fields  or  hear  the 
birds  sing  again?  " 

On  such  occasions  there  must  be  prompt 
"  counter  battery  work,"  as  they  say  at  the  front, 
or  he  would  go  out  of  his  head.  His  answer  was 
to  call  upon  his  memory  for  the  ammunition  of 
battle;  to  relieve  happy  incidents  of  the  past.  His 
father  and  mother  and  Peter  Smithers  and  all  his 
friends  must  help  him. 

His  thoughts  ran  in  leaping  waves  of  half-con 
sciousness  from  one  picture  of  recollection  to 
another  .  .  .  Yes,  it  was  Helen  who  had  been  to 
see  him  last  .  .  .  What  a  ninny  she  had  made  him 
appear  when  he  proposed  to  her  by  mistake  under 
the  tree !  .  .  .  How  the  mischief  would  leap  out 
of  her  eyes!  .  .  .  How  many  kinds  of  Helen 
were  there?  Sometimes  he  had  thought  that  she 


A  THOUGHT  FOR  HELEN        345 

suffered  because  she  was  plain.  No,  all  she  cared 
for  was  to  make  drawings.  How  would  she  and 
Peter  get  along?  They  would  be  a  pair!  She 
would  be  certain  to  cartoon  him  .  .  .  The  terrace 
at  Mervaux!  That  last  night  when  the  three  had 
walked  up  and  down  together  in  the  dusk.  White 
slippers  moving  in  unison  with  his  own  steps — 
odd  that  he  should  remember  that!  Two  voices 
were  so  alike  that  either  girl  might  have  been 
speaking.  Why,  it  was  quite  the  same  as  if  he  had 
his  hearing  back  and  could  not  see  .  .  . 

Henriette  smiling  from  her  easel  at  him — how 
good  she  was  to  look  at!  Helen  with  her  quips 
as  she  was  drawing  the  cartoons !  Helen  in  her 
intensity  as  she  made  the  real  drawing!  Hen 
riette  silent,  smiling,  her  lips  parted  as  if  she  were 
speaking  and  Helen's  words  seeming  to  be  here ! 
Oh,  afternoon  of  afternoons!  Air  sweet  to  the 
nostrils  and  genial  sunlight !  All  the  senses  in 
tranquil  enjoyment!  .  .  . 

And  Henriette  !  Oh,  he  had  been  hard  hit  that 
day.  It  was  enough  for  any  woman  to  be  as 
beautiful  as  she  was !  But  how  little  he  realised 
her  worth  then !  Her  beauty  had  dimmed  her 
other  qualities.  She  was  all  of  Helen  and  Hen 
riette,  too  .  .  .  That  glorious  courage  of  Hen 
riette  in  face  of  the  shells !  The  woman  who  had 
waited  had  not  been  afraid.  When  she  had  only 
to  raise  her  finger  to  bring  the  strong  and  the  well 
to  pay  her  court,  her  loyalty  had  not  faltered 


346  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

when  he  was  too  horrible  to  remain  alive.  If  he 
had  not  been  wounded  he  would  never  have  known 
her  true  worth  .  .  . 

How  had  such  luck  come  to  him?  Silence,  you 
pain  devils!  It  had — it  had!  The  messages  of 
her  sturdy  determination  that  had  fortified  him 
and  of  the  nonsense  that  cheers  which  she  had 
written  on  his  arm  were  recalled.  Now  he  was 
imagining  the  touch  of  her  fingers  on  his  arm 
writing  good  news.  Any  minute  he  might  feel 
her  hand-clasp  announcing  her  return.  For  he 
had  no  idea  of  time;  her  comings  and  goings  set 
his  calendar.  This  Henriette  made  the  other 
seem  only  a  doll.  She  said  that  he  would  get  well. 
He  should.  It  was  too  good  a  world  for  his 
sight  not  to  come  back  in  order  that  he  might  feed 
it  on  the  beautiful  vision  of  her — now  that  suf 
fering  had  taught  him  how  to  appreciate  her. 

"  You  are  very  eerie  this  afternoon,"  whis 
pered  the  Fiend  General  Commanding,  beaten 
down  to  a  grumbling  complaint.  "  If  we  could 
only  stop  you  from  thinking  of  her  we'd  soon 
have  you." 

"  You  never  will !  "  Phil  replied.  "  She  has  the 
measure  of  such  imps  of  hell  as  you." 

And  he  slept. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

LIGHT 

EITHER  Helen  or  Phil  had  given  the  eye 
expert  the  name  of  Mr.  Eyes  and  the  ear 
expert  that  of  Mr.  Ears,  which  these  great 
men  who  had  honourific  alphabetical  court  trains 
to  their  names  did  not  mind.  As  guardian  of  the 
nerve  which  enables  us  to  know  whether  the  tenor 
is  in  good  voice  or  not  and  to  tell  the  notes  of  the 
lark  from  those  of  the  nightingale  or,  what  was 
more  important  in  the  latest  European  operations, 
the  cough  of  the  soixante-quinze  from  the  rattle 
of  a  machine-gun,  Mr.  Ears  was  champion  of 
silence  in  the  hospital,  which  might  have  been  as 
noisy  as  a  boiler  factory  without  disturbing  Phil. 

The  ambulances  ran  softly  up  to  the  door;  the 
nurses  spoke  low;  they  did  not  rattle  the  dishes 
when  they  brought  food  from  the  diet  kitchens. 
After  Phil's  nurse  had  placed  his  tray  in  front  of 
him  preparatory  to  feeding  him,  she  was  called 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room  for  something,  when 
she  heard  a  crash  behind  her.  She  turned  to  see 
broken  glass  and  crockery  scattered  on  the  floor. 
Extraordinary!  This  had  never  happened  before 
to  him.  As  she  bent  over  to  wipe  up  the  small 

347 


348  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

delta  of  milk  she  saw  Phil's  foot  wiggling  ener 
getically,  demanding  his  pad — a  rare  request  un 
less  he  knew  that  Helen  was  present. 

"  Did  it  make  a  noise?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  course,  and  an  awful  mess !  "  she  replied. 
"  How  did  it  happen?" 

"  Experiment !  "  he  wrote. 

Experiment?  It  was  a  plain  case  of  being  out 
of  his  head.  She  hoped  that  Helen  would  come 
soon,  as  she  always  brought  him  around  if  he  gave 
signs  of  delirium.  Meanwhile,  she  must  be  on 
the  watch  lest  he  tear  off  his  bandages,  as  other 
of  Bricktop's  patients  had  done,  but  her  appre 
hensions  were  quite  groundless. 

The  downfall  of  the  tray  was  a  test  after  vague 
intimations  that  sound  was  entering  Phil's  silent 
world.  It  was  as  loud  to  his  ears  as  the  crackling 
of  a  sheet  of  newspaper.  His  elation  over  the 
discovery  was  so  great  that  he  had  a  reaction 
when  the  nerve-devils  began  plying  him  with  their 
scepticism. 

"Well-known  psychological  illusion!"  they 
said,  using  professional  language  which  they  had 
picked  up  from  long  association  with  hospitals. 
"  Imagination  played  you  a  trick.  You  knew  it 
was  going  to  crash !  " 

Very  likely  they  were  right.  Hadn't  he 
imagined  that  he  could  see  the  interior  of  the 
ward  and  how  Henriette  looked  when  she  bent 
over  him  to  write  on  his  arm?  Hadn't  he  some- 


LIGHT  349 

times  heard  her  steps  in  imagination  around  his 
chair?  He  set  all  his  mind  into  his  ears,  straining 
for  some  other  sound.  There  was  none. 

"  This  torture  is  called  hope  unfilled !  "  chir 
ruped  the  nerve-devils.  "  Oh,  what  a  dance  we 
shall  give  you  to-morrow  after  the  operation! 
The  operation  is  to-morrow,  isn't  it?  " 

Of  course  the  nurse  related  the  whole  affair  to 
Helen  when  she  arrived. 

"  '  Experiment,'  he  said.  How  extraordi 
nary!  "  exclaimed  the  nurse,  who  was  still  more 
astounded  when  Helen  gave  an  outcry  of  joy  and, 
leaning  over,  puckered  her  lips  and  uttered  a 
sharp  whistle — which  was  one  of  her  accomplish 
ments — in  Phil's  ear. 

Here  was  real  test !  No  imagination  about 
this,  if  he  had  heard.  She  drew  back,  quivering 
with  suspense.  Phil  was  wiggling  his  foot  almost 
violently  for  his  pad  and  pencil. 

"  Did  somebody  whistle  in  my  ear?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  did!  I  did!  "  she  repeated  wildly,  as  she 
wrote  her  reply. 

'  They  said  it  was  imagination  " — she  knew 
who  "  they  "  were,  those  "  Boches  "  of  nerve- 
devils. 

"  Score  one  for  the  Allies !  "  she  wrote  on  his 
arm.  "  I'm  off  to  tell  Mr.  Ears !" 

The  Great  Man  came  swinging  along  the  gravel 
path,  half  running  to  keep  up  with  Helen.  After 
the  scientific  test  which  he  promptly  applied  he 


350  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

felt  as  triumphant  as  a  brigadier  who  had  taken 
the  first  line  trenches  on  a  front  of  a  thousand 
yards  in  the  Ypres  salient. 

"  Only  a  question  of  time,  he  says,"  Helen 
wrote. 

"  Hurrah !  "  Phil  replied.  "  If  anybody  has  a 
steam  siren  handy  and  blew  it  in  my  ear  it  would 
be  all  the  more  comforting." 

"  Soon  I  shall  not  have  to  write  on  your  arm 
any  more,"  she  told  him. 

"  That  will  be  odd." 

"  Yes,  very!  "  she  said. 

Mr.  Ears  had  gone  to  tell  Bricktop,  who  said 
that  it  would  hearten  Phil  for  the  operation  the 
next  day  and  then  despatched  a  messenger  to  the 
parents  and  Peter  Smithers.  The  news  travelled 
fast  about  the  hospital.  It  was  across  the  street 
with  the  Trucklefords  in  half  an  hour. 

"  Clever  of  him,  wasn't  it,  dropping  the  tray?  " 
said  Lady  Violet.  u  And  so  American!  " 

Of  course  the  Truckleford  lot  had  met  Peter 
Smithers  by  this  time.  He  and  the  Sanfords  had 
even  had  tea  over  there  on  the  primary  invitation 
of  Henriette,  renewed  unanimously  by  all  present. 
He  was  a  card,  this  dry  American  worth  three 
millions,  which  were  to  go  to  that  poor  fellow 
struggling  to  become  a  whole  human  being  again 
without  yet  knowing  that  he  was  to  be  the  heir. 
Phil's  case  took  on  fresh  interest.  So  he  could 
hear  a  little !  And  the  big  operation  was  to- 


LIGHT  351 

morrow!     If  that  should  succeed  and  he  should 
recover  his  sight! 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford  sat  on  one  of  the 
benches  in  the  court,  at  times  furtively  clasping 
hands  as  they  thought  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
operating-room.  Peter  Smithers  and  Helen  were 
walking  up  and  down;  and  they,  too,  were  silent. 
All  felt  their  helplessness.  Everything  was  with 
the  skill  of  that  red-headed  dental  surgeon.  The 
eyes  of  the  men  in  pain  lying  on  the  grass  or  rest 
ing  on  other  benches  were  bright  with  sympathy, 
peering  out  from  the  white  balls  of  bandages. 
Phil's  was  the  worst  case  ever  admitted,  and  theirs 
had  been  bad  enough.  The  magician  they  knew 
had  only  made  the  attempt  for  the  sake  of  those 
two  old  people  sitting  as  quiet  as  if  they  were  of 
stone. 

Surprise  appeared  in  the  faces  of  the  Sanfords, 
Peter,  and  Helen  as  Henriette  came  under  the 
Oral  Surgery  sign.  She  met  their  glances  with 
one  of  appealing  inquiry,  as  she  stood  hesitant, 
looking  from  one  to  another.  It  occurred  to  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Sanford  how  beautiful  she  was,  and 
again  for  the  thousandth  time  to  Helen.  The 
father  and  mother  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
thing  that  they  had  promised  to  keep  out  of  mind, 
as  they  saw  the  contrast  between  the  two,  with 
the  well-moulded  features  of  Henriette  and  the 
irregular  ones  of  Helen  in  repose. 


352  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

"  Nothing  yet !  "  said  Peter.     "  We  wait." 

There  was  a  glint  of  passing  sharpness  in  his 
shrewd  eye.  She  smiled  in  the  face  of  it  as  one 
will  who  asks  not  to  be  misunderstood;  then  joined 
him  and  Helen  in  their  pacing. 

"  You  have  been  so  wonderful  to  Cousin  Phil," 
she  said  to  Peter. 

"  Bricktop  will  do  it!  "  remarked  Peter,  closing 
his  fist  and  giving  it  a  little  shake.  "  Wonderful, 
did  you  say?  Me?  " 

'  Yes,"  she  smiled  up  at  him.    "  I  did  not  know 
that  there  could  be  such  men  as  you  in  the  world." 

"  Lots  of  them  in  America !  "  replied  Peter. 
"  Growing  them  is  one  of  our  national  industries! 
Competition  is  hard  and  they  knock  one  another 
about  so  much  some  of  'em  get  calloused,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  How  worthy  Phil  is  of  all  your  generosity 
we  found  at  Mervaux,"  Henriette  continued. 

"  Yes.  He's  in  there !  "  Peter  concluded,  nod 
ding  toward  the  operating-room. 

"  Yes!  "  she  murmured.     "  It's  too  awful!  " 

She,  too,  was  silent,  taking  her  cue  from  his 
evident  desire.  As  she  paced  beside  him  she  had 
an  atmospheric  feeling  of  the  power  of  the  man 
as  something  absolute  and  indomitable,  centred  on 
fighting  with  his  will  for  a  decision  in  favour  of 
Phil.  He  made  talk  of  any  kind  seem  petty. 

When  the  door  of  the  operating-room  opened 
they  heard  its  swing,  noiseless  as  were  its  hinges. 


LIGHT  353 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford  rose  mechanically  in  answer 
to  that  signal;  the  others  turned  in  their  tracks. 
As  Bricktop  appeared  in  the  doorway  two  pairs 
of  old  eyes  saw  him  indistinctly  through  a  swim 
ming  haze.  They  were  going  to  learn  now  if 
Phil  would  ever  be  to  their  sight  as  he  was  before, 

or Bricktop's  round  face  drawn  with  effort 

lighted  with  a  smile,  as  he  held  up  his  hand. 

"You've  done  it!  By  God,  you've  done  it, 
Bricktop!  "  Peter  cried,  rushing  toward  him. 

"Right!"  said  Bricktop.  "Unless  there  is 
some  setback  in  the  next  two  or  three  days.  I 
don't  think  there  will  be.  Expect  to  make  him 
as  good  as  new,  only  a  few  little  scars !  " 

Two  pairs  of  old  eyes  still  saw  that  red  head 
like  a  sun  through  a  fog,  but  they  had  heard  his 
words.  They  did  not  cry  out;  their  only  demon 
stration  was  to  clasp  hands.  Helen  could  not 
speak,  only  look  at  Bricktop  with  glorious  wonder 
in  her  eyes,  which  he  was  quick  to  see. 

;<  We  beat  the  Boches  to  it,  eh?  "  he  said  to  her. 

Peter,  too,  had  become  silent  in  his  inexpressible 
happiness,  after  he  had  wrung  Bricktop's  hand. 

"If  now  he  should  recover  his  sight!  "  Hen- 
riette  exclaimed  abstractedly,  her  words  appar 
ently  the  beginning  of  a  train  of  thought  too  rapid 
to  be  expressed  in  speech. 

"  He  will !  "  said  Helen  and  Peter  together. 

Phil  was  being  wheeled  from  the  operating- 
room  back  to  the  ward.  Bricktop  beckoned  the 


354  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

waiting  group  to  come  in;  then  bade  them  pause 
at  the  door  until  Phil  was  transferred  from  his 
carriage  to  the  bed.  The  nurse  said  that  he  had 
recovered  consciousness,  though  there  was  no 
sign  of  it  in  his  motionless  form. 

"  You  tell  him!  "  said  Bricktop  to  Helen. 

"  Bricktop  has  done  it!  You  win!  "  she  wrote 
on  his  arm. 

Many  days  awaited  him,  with  the  pain  devils 
in  their  last  big  dance,  but  with  every  day  mean 
ing  less  torture.  His  hearing  had  become  distinct 
enough  to  perceive  an  ordinary  conversation 
around  his  chair  as  a  faint  hum.  The  silver 
harness  still  clinched  his  jaw  and  the  bandages 
were  still  over  his  eyes. 

"  Quite  as  he  was  before — only  a  few  scars," 
Bricktop,  whom  Henriette  had  met  coming  out 
of  his  office,  said  in  answer  to  her  inquiry  when 
she  was  on  her  way  to  Phil. 

Mr.  Eyes  happened  to  be  coming  along  the 
path  at  the  time.  Henriette  joined  him  and  to 
gether  they  crossed  the  court. 

"  What  hope?  "  she  asked.  She  put  the  ques 
tion  to  him  with  increased  fervour  every  time  that 
she  saw  him;  and  of  late  she  had  chanced  to  see 
him  frequently. 

"  I  am  going  to  change  the  bandages,"  he  re 
plied. 


LIGHT  355 

Sometimes  the  great  man  had  doubts  about  the 
system  of  bandages,  which  nine  out  of  ten  special 
ists  would  not  have  favoured,  perhaps;  but  when 
he  considered  an  operation  he  fell  back  on  them 
as  the  only  way.  Shell-shock  was  baffling, 
freakish,  in  its  results,  and  the  truth  was  that 
he  was  groping  in  professional  darkness  to  save 
Phil  from  eternal  darkness.  Yesterday  he  had 
strengthened  the  application.  A  matter  of  daily 
routine  the  change  of  the  bandages.  It  brought 
him  every  afternoon  to  the  ward  and  always 
Helen  was  there  to  receive  him,  the  same  look  of 
confident  anticipation  in  her  eyes,  as  yet  un 
fulfilled. 

He  pressed  his  hand  on  Phil's  forehead,  and 
this  Phil  had  long  ago  come  to  recognise  as  Mr. 
Eyes'  private  signal  which  preceded  the  removal 
of  the  bandages.  He  was  particularly  welcome 
to-day,  as  Phil  had  had  a  kind  of  restless  sensation 
back  of  his  eyeballs.  As  the  medicated  pad  was 
withdrawn,  a  gurgling  outcry  rose  from  his  throat 
and  he  leaned  convulsively  forward,  fingers  out 
stretched,  opening  and  closing  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  grasp  at  a  reality  that  might  escape. 

"  It's  not  true!  Imagination  again!  "  snarled 
the  pain  devils;  but  they  could  not  deceive  him 
about  this. 

Light  had  come  into  his  black  night,  soft, 
dreamy,  vague,  amazing  light — just  light,  light, 
light !  There  were  no  people  in  it,  no  houses,  no 


356  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

trees,  only  light  which  seemed  like  silver  gauze 
hung  before  his  eyes  and  yet  to  stretch  to  the  ends 
of  the  world.  It  had  brought  something  dead  to 
life  as  by  miracle,  with  a  touch  as  soft  as  eider 
down,  sending  little  thrills  knitting  in  and  out  all 
through  him.  Light  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
heard  that  hurtling  scream  of  the  shell!  Light 
was  in  his  brain,  his  veins,  his  tissue,  singing  and 
frolicking  as  it  opened  the  doors  of  dark  places. 
He  wanted  to  embrace  it,  fondle  it,  run  it  through 
his  fingers  with  a  miser's  greed  of  gold  and  gather 
a  store  of  it  while  he  might.  Out  of  the  light,  as 
if  traced  by  the  hand  of  light,  a  message  was  being 
traced  on  his  arm. 

"What  is  it,  Phil?"  Helen  asked  him. 

He  would  not  attempt  to  speak  again.  He  had 
forgotten  himself  when  he  made  that  gurgling 
outcry.  It  was  one  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  his 
sick  man's  pride  that  he  would  not  try  to  talk 
before  the  one  who  wrote  on  his  arm.  The  sounds 
that  he  emitted  through  the  bandages  and  silver 
harness  must  be  like  a  stuttering  idiot's  lisp,  as  he 
expressed  it,  and  he  thought  of  himself  as  re 
pulsive  enough  to  her  brave  eyes  without  that. 
Speech  would  return  normally,  the  throat  expert 
had  said,  when  the  removal  of  Bricktop's  ap 
paratus  should  give  it  a  chance. 

"  Light!  "  he  wrote.  "  Just  light,  without  see 
ing  you  or  where  I  am.  It  seems  as  if  I  were 
hung  up  in  the  ether,  without  seeing  sky  or  earth 


LIGHT  357 

and  light  held  me  up  and  I  ate  it  and  drank  it 
and  breathed  it.  Oh,  it  is  good,  good !  " 

"  Yes,  good!  "  repeated  phlegmatic,  kindly  Mr. 
Eyes,  who  had  brought  light  to  many  people  for 
large  fees  from  the  rich  and  for  nothing  for  those 
who  live  in  the  alleys.  Light  was  his  business. 
Yet  he,  too,  must  find  some  outlet  for  his  emo 
tion,  which  was  to  pat  Helen  on  the  head.  Gen 
eral  Ears  had  taken  only  a  thousand  yards,  while 
General  Eyes  felt  as  triumphant  as  if  he  had 
taken  five  miles  of  first  line  trench,  ten  thousand 
prisoners  and  a  hundred  guns.  It  was  the  knock 
out  blow  for  the  little  pain  devils. 

When  he  had  made  some  experiments  and  put 
on  fresh  compresses  and  was  about  to  go,  he  said, 
choosing  his  words  carefully: 

"  I  think  that  I  may  safely  say,  barring  unfore 
seen  complications,  that  he  will  entirely  recover 
his  sight  with  time.  How  about  that?  "  he  added, 
to  Helen. 

Her  eyes  were  moist  with  happiness.  She  was 
incapable  of  speaking.  Her  first  coherent  thought 
was  that  Phil  himself  did  not  yet  know. 

"  Victory!  "  she  wrote  on  his  arm.  '  You  will 
completely  recover  your  sight,  on  the  high 
authority  of  Mr.  Eyes  himself." 

For  a  space  he  made  no  movement.  His  con 
sciousness  was  absorbing  a  transcendent  fact. 
Helen  sat  beside  him,  waiting.  Henriette,  who 
had  remained  all  the  while  in  the  background, 


358  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

silent  except  for  a  prolonged  cry  of  delight,  came 
nearer  and  stood  on  the  other  side  of  hin%  aJsc 
waiting.  At  length  he  wrote : 

"  Soon  I  shall  see  you !  " 

"  Yes,"  Helen  replied. 

"  And  father  and  mother,  too.  Tell  them 
quick — and  Peter  and  Bricktop  and  Helen — 
everybody !  " 

"  Yes.     I  will  go  instantly." 

She  should  have  thought  of  this  before,  she 
said  to  herself,  as  she  hurried  away  on  her 
mission. 

Henriette  was  left  alone  with  Phil.  She  re 
garded  him  with  lashes  half-closed  and  with  her 
lips  set  in  a  way  much  like  Madame  Ribot's.  As 
she  grew  older  she  would  more  and  more  resemble 
her  mother.  A  step  and  another,  slowly,  grace 
fully,  as  she  bent  her  lithe  figure,  her  eyes  opening 
now  in  venturesome  inquiry  as  she  took  the  place 
which  Helen  had  just  vacated.  She  had  written 
on  his  arm  a  good  deal  of  late  and,  fascinated  by 
the  accomplishment,  had  even  practised  on  her 
own  arm  in  her  room.  Phil  received  the  hand 
clasp  which  signalled  Helen's  return. 

"  A  messenger  has  gone,"  she  wrote. 
"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  a  walk  in  the  court?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "  It  will  make  the 
happiness  still  more  real  to  feel  my  legs  under 
me." 

She  directed  his  steps  as  Helen  had  directed 


LIGHT  359 

them  many  times.  The  men  of  pain  lounging  in 
the  court  looking  out  through  the  holes  in  balls 
of  white,  watched  two  figures  pacing  in  rhythmic 
step  which  was  familiar  when  their  backs  were 
turned;  but  when  facing  them,  the  girl  who  was 
like  a  picture  was  in  place  of  the  picture  girl. 
They  wondered  about  it;  wonder  was  a  habit  of 
their  tired  minds.  She  was  beautiful,  surpass 
ingly  so,  soothing  to  the  eyes,  and  she  played 
Helen's  part,  too,  by  smiling  at  them  as  she 
passed.  Her  smile  was  more  radiant  than 
Helen's.  It  was  a  better  short-acquaintance  smile, 
one  of  them  thought,  while  Helen's  sent  a  warm 
ing,  lasting  glow  all  through  you  and  was  better 
for  easing  pain.  Of  the  two,  they  would  rather 
have  Helen  about  every  day.  The  men  of  pain 
were  not  articulate,  but  little  that  passed  in  the 
court  escaped  their  eyes.  If  a  sparrow  lighted 
on  a  roof  or  a  nurse  appeared  at  a  window,  they 
knew  it. 

Then,  just  as  Phil  and  Henriette  had  made  a 
turn  with  their  backs  to  them,  they  saw  Helen 
appear  under  the  sign  and  something  happened 
that  puzzled  pain-weary  heads.  At  the  very  point 
where  the  court  was  in  view  the  picture  girl 
stopped  short  at  the  sight  of  the  two  who  were 
promenading.  For  an  instant  she  was  perfectly 
still,  only  an  instant,  as  she  looked  at  the  backs 
of  Phil  and  the  girl  who  was  like  a  picture.  Then 
she- put  her  hand  up  to  her  head  abruptly,  *s  one 


360  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

will  who  recollects  something,  and  turned  away 
before  the  two  had  wheeled  to  walk  back  toward 
the  Oral  Surgery  sign. 

It  was  a  pantomime  that  set  the  men  into  a 
prolonged  quandary.  Some  had  an  idea,  from 
the  way  that  Helen  put  her  hand  up  to  her  head, 
that  there  had  been  a  flash  of  pain  as  sharp  as 
any  they  had  ever  known  through  it;  others 
thought  that  she  was  relieved  to  find  another  in 
her  place.  Perhaps  both  were  right,  and  all  kept 
thinking  of  it  after  Phil  and  Henriette  had  gone 
indoors. 

When  she  had  led  him  to  his  chair  and  drawn 
the  coverlet  over  his  legs  as  she  had  seen  Helen 
do,  she  gave  him  the  hand-clasp  which  meant 
"  good-night."  In  answer,  he  gripped  her  hand 
tightly  and  drew  her  toward  him.  The  other  hand 
moved  slowly  back  and  forth  in  the  air  till  its 
fingers  touched  her  hair.  Then,  with  the  feathery 
touch  of  the  blind,  he  traced  the  line  of  her  fore 
head.  A  frown  like  her  mother's  gathered  as  he 
went  on  to  her  eyes,  her  nose,  her  lips,  and  her 
chin. 

"  It  is  the  first  time  that  you  ever  did  that,"  she 
wrote  on  his  arm. 

When  she  brought  his  pad  and  he  began  writ 
ing,  her  head  was  bent,  lips  ti^ht,  eyes  squinting 
with  intensity,  as  she  watched  the  tracing  of  each 
word. 

"  Yes.     I  often  wanted  to "     Her  frown 


LIGHT  361 

had  gone.  Her  head  rose  as  she  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  smiled  as  she  would  at  herself  in  the 
mirror.  His  pencil  hesitated,  then  went  on. 

" but  thought  that  you   might  think  I   was 

rude.     You  don't  think  so,  now?" 

"  No.  You  did  it  beautifully,  wonderfully,"  she 
replied.  "  It  was  the  next  best  thing  to  knowing 
that  you  could  really  see  me.  And  soon  you 
shall." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

SPINNING  WEBS 

WAR,  which  shakes  human  beings  of  all 
sorts  and  conditions  together  as  dice  in 
a  box,  had  placed  Peter  Smithers  and 
Madame  Ribot  side  by  side  flying  over  a  main 
highway  of  France  in  the  automobile  which,  with 
his  gift  for  managing  things,  he  had  at  his  dis 
posal.     Her  own  gift  for  managing  things  had 
secured  a  vehicle  of  transit  from  Paris  on  a  visit 
to  Henriette  all  to  her  taste,  with  companionship 
all  to  her  purpose. 

She  was  gowned  with  the  simplicity  which  the 
war  mode  required,  but  most  effectively.  Dur 
ing  the  last  week  her  mirror  signs  had  been  most 
favourable,  while  return  to  action  after  many 
years  of  retirement  had  quickened  her  wits  and 
brightened  her  smile.  Thanks  to  the  way  that 
she  had  kept  her  hand  in  with  General  Rousseau, 
Count  de  la  Grange  and  others,  the  technique  of 
her  art  had  not  deteriorated  and  she  was  prac 
tising  on  Peter  with  a  finesse  of  adaptability  to 
the  subject  of  Henrietta's  tailor.  It  was  an  axiom 
of  the  circle  in  which  she  had  been  trained 
that  no  one  was  more  susceptible  to  old  world 

362 


SPINNING  WEBS  363 

charm  of  her  kind  than  self-made  American  mil 
lionaires. 

"  A  good-looking  woman,"  thought  Peter, 
"  and  lots  of  style." 

He  was  delighted  to  be  better  acquainted  with 
her,  as  he  must  become  in  that  five  hours'  ride. 
The  car  was  a  limousine,  the  cushions  soft,  the 
autumn  day  fair,  and  Madame  Ribot  was  spinning 
webs  as  the  rubber  tires  spun  over  the  road. 

"  America  must  be  wonderful,"  she  said. 

"  It's  a  growing  country,"  Peter  replied.  "  Al 
ways  growing  out  of  its  clothes  and  too  many 
political  tailors  down  in  Washington  changing  the 
styles.  But  it's  my  country,  all  right,  and  we 
haven't  got  any  Kaisers  with  their  war  bonnets  on 
romping  around  over  there." 

"  And  such  bold,  creative,  organising  men  " — 
she  liked  the  adjectives  and  gave  them  a  purring 
sound — "  as  you  have  made  America." 

'  Well,  America  was  there  first,  but  we've  cer 
tainly  stuck  a  few  skyscrapers  about  on  the  red 
skins'  hunting  preserves." 

She  smiled  as  Peter  glanced  around  and  the 
nature  of  his  smile  in  return  was  the  authority 
for  a  confidential  tap-tap  of  the  sole  of  her  shoe 
on  the  hassock  under  her  foot.  Convenient  has 
sock!  Powerful,  speedy  car!  Three  millions! 

"  In  England,  where  they  recognise  men  of 
worth,  they  would  have  made  you  a  peer,"  she 
remarked,  with  a  sigh.  She  was  putting  it  on 


364  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

thick,  but  was  convinced  that  Peter  liked  it  that 
way.  For  that  matter,  Count  de  la  Grange  liked  it 
thick,  too ;  and  men  were  much  alike. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  he  asked  thoughtfully. 

"  I  am  certain  of  it." 

"  And  then  they  would  call  me  '  My  Lord  '?  " 
he  continued  after  a  pause,  almost  coyly. 

uYes." 

Peter  smiled  again  to  himself  and  at  the  back 
of  the  chauffeur's  head. 

"  Such  leaders  as  you  in  America  do  not  make 
their  money  for  sordid  purposes.  It  means 
power,"  she  went  on. 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Peter,  who  remained 
thoughtful.  "  You  have  a  way  of  putting  things, 
Madame  Ribot,"  he  added,  with  another  smile. 

'  You  build  in  the  joy  of  building;  and  with 
you,  I  should  think  that  it  was  the  joy  of  giving, 
too.  It  was  easy  to  see  when  he  was  at  Mervaux 
how  devoted  Phil  was  to  you.  He  was  always 
speaking  of  you." 

"Was  he?"  Peter  inquired  eagerly.  "Was 
he  ?  "  he  repeated,  with  a  touch  of  surprise  in  his 
tone. 

"  But  it  was  admiration  for  you  as  a  man,  while 
it  was  clear  that  he  meant  to  make  his  own  way. 
How  fond  I  became  of  him !  How  chivalrous  he 
was  to  Henriette !  How  brave  he  had  been !  And 
now  they  say  he  will  quite  recover.  I  hope  so,  for 
his  sake." 


SPINNING  WEBS  365 

"  He  will !  "  replied  Peter. 

Tap-tap  on  the  hassock!  Soft,  inaudible  tap- 
tap! 

"  It's  like  some  fairy  tale,  his  story,  isn't  it?  " 
she  murmured;  "  his  and  yours.  I  can  understand 
your  happiness  in  seeing  him  make  good,  as  you 
say  in  America,  where  you  are  giving  the  sturdy 
English  language  something  of  French  piquancy, 
and  your  happiness  in  having  him  for  your  heir. 
It  was  as  if  you  had  found  a  son." 

"  He  has  not  been  told  yet,"  Peter  said  quickly. 
The  shoe  pressed  down  nervously  on  the  hassock 
in  the  interval  before  Peter,  as  he  looked  around 
at  her  again,  added,  almost  sharply:  "  I  am  going 
to  tell  him  myself  when  the  time  comes." 

"  And  without  his  expecting  it — that  all  is  going 
to  him?  "  she  asked,  quite  casually. 

"  Yes.  I've  given  my  word,"  Peter  replied. 
"  All  to  be  his  to  do  with  as  he  pleases  when  I'm 
gone — all  except, — you  see,"  again  he  looked 
around  and  Madame  Ribot's  lashes  flickered,  so 
steady  was  his  glance,  "  you  see,  I  believe  in  men 
or  I  don't.  I  back  them  or  I  don't,  and  I'm  backing 

Phil,  his  character,  his  judgment — all  except " 

he  paused,  still  looking  at  her.  It  was  not  caress 
ing  time  for  the  hassock.  "  All  except  some  be 
quests  of  a  few  hundred  thousand.  And  I  guess," 
drily,  "  that  Phil  won't  mind.  He  might  waste  it 
himself  keeping  up  that  farm  if  I  don't  waste  it 
for  him  first." 


366  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

He  chuckled  as  he  thought  of  the  farm.  Tap- 
tap  went  the  shoe  on  the  hassock  in  a  riot  of 
reassurance. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  your  farm !  "  she 
murmured. 

"  Perhaps  you  will.  I'd  like  to  show  you 
around,"  said  Peter. 

"  Delightful!  Henriette  feels  that  she  already 
knows  it  and  Longfield."  Longfield  was  near 
Lenox  and  there  were  delightful  people  at  Lenox. 
In  case  that  she  and  Henriette  went  to  the  Berk- 
shires  they  might  not  find  it  altogether  a  bore. 

"  The  American  in  Henriette's  blood  is  coming 
out,"  remarked  Peter.  "  She  resembles  you  very 
much;  only,"  Peter  smiled  a  little  embarrassedly, 
"  you  seem  too  young  to  be  her  mother." 

"Do  I?  I "  Madame  Ribot  flushed  and 

looked  down.  Possibly  it  is  not  the  male  sex  alone 
that  likes  it  thick. 

"  Yes.  I  could  hardly  believe  it  at  first,"  he 
added,  with  simple  candour. 

Tap-tap  on  the  hassock,  oh,  most  softly  and 
confidentially!  Would  he  make  Phil  an  allow 
ance  ?  No  doubt  take  him  into  partnership  !  And 
Phil  would  doubtless  prefer  to  live  mostly  abroad 
— but  not  too  fast! 

"  France  is  beautiful,  isn't  it?  "  mused  Madame 
Ribot. 

"  Well,  the  people  made  it  that  way,"  he 
answered.  "  For  sheer  beauty  as  it  was  in  the 


SPINNING  WEBS  367 

days  of  the  fellows  who  got  their  meal  tickets  with 
bows  and  arrows  you  can't  beat  the  Berkshires 
or  the  Blue  Ridge.  Yes,  it's  work,  and  these 
French  have  been  at  it  a  long  time.  They  like  to 
see  things  growing  and  so  do  I.  Want  everybody 
and  everything  busy  and  smiling,  including  the 
land.  That's  pretty  good  gospel." 

"  And  we  who  live  in  Europe  enjoy  all  the 
beauty  which  countless  generations  have  made." 

"  Yes,  like  Phil  will  my  farm,"  Peter  replied. 
"  But  where  I  get  even  is  in  making  the  farm. 
Nearly  ruined  me,  that  farm!  " 

'  You  express  everything  so  well!  "  exclaimed 
Madame  Ribot  admiringly. 

"  Do  I?  "  Peter  said,  almost  nai'vely.  "  Well, 
you  know  that  depends  upon  whom  you  are  talk 
ing  to,"  he  added,  in  another  burst  of  simple 
candour. 

Madame  Ribot's  eyelashes  flickered  and  tap- 
tap  on  the  hassock!  His  compliments  were  dif 
ferent  from  the  Count's,  but  none  the  less  divert 
ing.  They  flattered  her  with  a  sense  of  personal 
power  in  tune  with  the  luxurious  humming  of  the 
motor. 

"  It's  been  a  most  enjoyable  journey,"  he  re 
marked  gallantly,  as  he  assisted  her  to  alight  at 
Lady  Truckleford's;  while  he  thought:  "Five 
hours  of  that  was  enough,  and  I  think  I  gave  her 
as  'good  as  she  sent !  " 

"  Henriette  is  absent  for  the  moment,"  said 


368  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

Lady  Truckleford  to  Madame  Ribot     "  She  has 
gone  to  bring  her  Cousin  Phil  for  tea." 

The  bandages  off  for  another  examination  by 
Dr.  Braisted,  the  autumn  sunlight  which  kissed 
the  tree-tops  and  cathedral  spires  and  gave  the 
Channel,  which  was  calm  that  day,  a  gossamery 
sheen,  was  soft  to  Phil's  irises  in  its  caressing 
promise  that  next  time  the  bandages  were  re 
moved  he  should  see  even  better. 

People  were  now  dim  moving  shadows  to  him; 
the  windows  of  the  ward  bright  squares  in  faintly 
perceptible  walls.  His  hearing  was  good  enough 
to  differentiate  in  tones  but  not  to  make  out  words 
unless  they  were  shouted.  His  pride  still  refused 
to  let  him  speak  and  kept  him  not  unhappily  to 
his  pad;  for  he  had  been  so  long  without  speech 
that  his  pencil  was  an  old  comrade  to  whom  he 
disliked  in  a  way  to  say  good-bye.  The  pain 
devils'  power  had  become  so  ineffectual  that  they 
were  disregarded,  pin-pricking  grumblers  at  con 
valescence. 

This  afternoon  both  Henriette  and  Helen  were 
present  when  the  bandages  were  removed.  He 
could  see  their  figures  dimly  as  two  persons  in  a 
mist  and  hear  their  voices.  He  could  tell  the 
day  nurse  from  the  night  nurse  when  either  was 
speaking.  But  the  voices  of  the  two  cousins  were 
the  same.  He  knew  if  either  were  at  his  side 
without  discerning  which;  and  marooned  in  his 


SPINNING  WEBS  369 

own  world  he  often  thought  of  this.  He  thought 
of  many  things,  sometimes  lazily,  again  acutely. 

"  Better,  still  better!  "  some  one  wrote  on  his 
arm  after  Dr.  Braisted  had  gone. 

"This  is  Henriette,  isn't  it?"  he  wrote,  as  it 
was.  She  wrote  most  of  the  messages  these  days. 

"  I'll  sign  my  name  after  this,"  she  wrote  in 
reply,  "  so  you  will  know.  Helen  is  going,  now." 

"  No  cartoons  to-day?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  to-day,"  Helen  herself  wrote.  "  You 
have  nearly  won  your  brave  fight,"  she  added, 
using  the  phrase  that  Henriette  had  several  times 
used. 

"  Yes.     Good-bye,  for  the  present." 

She  gave  his  hand  the  shake  that  was  the  signal 
of  parting,  and  she  was  glad  to  go,  glad  to  be  on 
the  move  in  the  restlessness  of  the  last  few  days 
which  seemed  to  urge  only  flight.  Feeling  his 
hand  close  tightly  she  trembled  under  its  grasp, 
but  could  not  resist  as  he  drew  her  nearer.  His 
fingers  groped  about  till  they  rested  on  her  hair. 
Now  he  traced  her  features  with  the  same 
feathery  touch  of  the  blind  as  he  had  Henriette's, 
down  the  smooth,  high  brow,  past  the  long  eye 
lashes  and  over  the  lump  of  nose,  to  the  lips,  which 
she  pressed  tight  to  keep  them  from  quivering. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  if  it  were  really  you,  Helen," 
he  wrote.  "  Forgive  me  such  bad  manners !  " 

".Yes,  it  is  I,"  she  answered  aloud,  as  she  re 
leased  his  hand;  and  though  she  came  to  her  feet 


370  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

convulsively  she  appeared  quite  steady  as  she  said 
to  Henriette  : 

"  Any  day  when  the  bandages  are  off  he  may 
see  so  well  that  he  can  tell  one  person  from 
another." 

There  was  a  brittle  silence,  with  Henriette 
motionless  and  looking  past  her  sister  at  a  fixed 
point. 

"  It's  done !  It  has  all  come  out  right,"  con 
tinued  Helen,  her  fingers  driven  into  her  palms 
and  a  triumphant  sort  of  stoicism  in  her  tone. 
Still  Henriette  looked  past  her  and  said  nothing. 

"  I "  There  she  stopped  herself.  "  I  must 

be  going,"  she  added,  the  words  coming  in  a  burst 
as  she  went  toward  the  one  thing  distinct  to  her 
eyes,  the  stream  of  light  from  the  open  door,  with 
the  precipitancy  of  one  who  has  been  giddily 
crossing  a  narrow  bridge  and  hastens  the  last 
steps  as  loss  of  equilibrium  threatens. 

"  Any  day  he  may  see  so  well  that  he  can  tell 
one  person  from  another!  "  Henriette  repeated. 
"  Well,"  with  a  shrug  after  a  pause.  Then  she 
smiled  as  she  would  into  her  mirror  as  she  wrote 
on  Phil's  arm: 

"  Shall  we  walk  over  to  Lady  Truckleford's 
for  tea?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

He  had  been  there  twice  already.  It  was  the 
longest  journey  he  had  made  on  foot  since  he  had 
been  wounded;  a  welcome  change  of  routine;  a 


SPINNING  WEBS  371 

bold  undertaking.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford,  who 
were  coming  to  see  him,  met  the  two  as  they  were 
crossing  the  court.  Henriette  greeted  them  with 
her  winning  smile  and  insisted  that  they,  too,  must 
come  to  the  Trucklefords'.  The  gravelled  path 
was  too  narrow  for  the  four  to  walk  abreast  and 
the  father  and  mother  fell  in  behind  the  erect 
figure  of  their  son,  arm  in  arm  with  Henriette. 

"  She  is  very  beautiful!  "  whispered  Mrs.  San- 
ford  to  her  husband. 

"  Yes." 

Their  looks  met  and  held,  but  they  said  noth 
ing.  Phil's  wish  was  theirs  and  they  had  made  a 
promise.  At  the  crossing  of  the  road  they  met 
Peter,  who  could  not  wait  for  Phil  to  come  to  the 
Trucklefords',  but  must  go  to  him;  and  Henriette 
stopped  to  tell  him  how  much  better  Phil's  eyes 
were  and  to  learn  about  her  mother's  journey 
from  Paris.  Every  word  reflected  her  radiant 
delight  at  seeing  him  again.  Then  he  dropped  to 
the  rear  to  talk  with  the  Sanfords,  who  glanced  at 
the  two  ahead  and  then  at  him  significantly. 

"  Resembles  her  mother,"  said  Peter.  "  In 
herited  her  good  looks." 

"We  shall  see  her,  too?"  said  Mrs.  Sanford, 
as  if  awed  at  the  thought. 

"  Yes.  All  we  need  for  a  family  reunion  is  the 
old  pair  at  Truckleford." 

"  And  Helen!  "  put  in  Mrs.  Sanford. 

"  And  Helen !  "  said  Peter  absently.     He  was 


372  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

not  in  talking  mood.  He  did  not  utter  a  syllable, 
but  chewed  at  his  under  lip  till  they  were  in  the 
grounds  of  the  old  chateau  which  had  been  trans 
formed  into  a  hospital.  "  I'm  backing  Phil!  "  he 
muttered  stubbornly  to  himself,  then. 

Madame  Ribot  hurried  forward  to  embrace 
Henriette,  while  Lady  Truckleford  made  sure 
that  the  shy  old  clergyman  and  his  wife  felt  at 
home.  Although  her  ideas  might  be  vague  about 
the  nature  of  the  charities  which  she  patronised, 
she  was  a  genuine  and  discerning  hostess. 

"  It's  clear  who  is  the  hero  here,"  she  said,  nod 
ding  toward  the  group  forming  around  Phil. 
Madame  Ribot  was  most  demonstrative  of  all 
over  him.  She  insisted  herself  upon  writing  on 
his  arm  how  brave  he  was  and  how  every  one 
admired  him. 

"  She  certainly  does  put  it  on  thick!  "  thought 
Peter.  "  And  likes  it  thick!  "  he  added,  in  recol 
lection  of  the  ride  from  Paris. 

"  My  arm  blushes !  "  Phil  wrote  on  his  pad  in 
reply. 

"  How  clever!  "  exclaimed  Lady  Violet. 

She  must  write  on  his  arm,  too.  Writing  on 
Phil's  arm  bid  fair  to  become  a  fad  with  the 
Truckleford  lot.  What  was  she  to  say?  She 
never  had  an  idea  when  she  wanted  one,  which 
was  something  understood  by  her  friends  but  most 
puzzling  to  herself.  All  she  could  think  of  was 
three  millions. 


SPINNING  WEBS  373 

"  This  is  Lady  Violet  Bearing,  and  I  don't 
know  of  anything  that  has  ever  appealed  to  me 
so  much  as  the  wonderfully  brave  fight  you  have 
made,"  she  wrote  at  last.  "  Every  day  that  Hen 
rietta  brought  news  that  you  were  better  I  felt 
like  cheering,  it  was  so  splendid." 

"  Thank  you,  Lady  Violet,"  he  replied. 

Talk  ran  around  him  but  always  had  him  in 
mind,  this  man  with  head  swathed  in  bandages, 
unable  to  speak  or  see  or  hear  for  present  pur 
poses,  who  had  become  a  romantic  figure  since 
it  was  known  that  he  would  inherit  three  millions. 

"  And  he  does  not  know!  "  exclaimed  Madame 
Ribot  suddenly.  "  It  does  seem  a  pity."  She 
smiled  her  best  with  a  kind  of  challenge  to  Peter. 

"  Well,"  he  responded  and  in  a  way  that  made 
everybody  silent.  This  business  of  the  giving  of 
three  millions  was  in  nowise  as  wonderful  to  him 
as  to  them.  He  had  long  ago  decided  on  the  gift 
and  merely  bided  the  time  of  announcement. 
"  Well,"  he  repeated  as  he  rose;  and,  with  a  pecu 
liar  smile  to  Madame  Ribot,  added :  "  I  think 
he  is  well  enough  now.  You  may  write  it,  Miss 
Ribot,  as  I  dictate  it.  So  : '  Peter  is  speaking,  Phil, 
and  he  is  telling  you  that  he  has  made  a  will  that 
makes  you  his  heir  when  he  goes  over  the  river — 
but  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  bequests  and  what  I  waste  on 
my  farm.'  ' 

"  Peter !  "    Phil  muttered  the  one  word  through 


374  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

the  bandages.  Then  his  hand  went  out  searching 
for  Peter's  and  held  it  fast  for  a  long  time ;  while 
for  once  everybody  on  the  lawn  at  tea  at  the 
Trucklefords'  was  silent.  Finally  he  wrote  on  his 
pad :  "  I  shall  try  to  be  worthy  of  it.  Yes,  I'll 
assist  you  in  ruining  the  farm  in  any  way  you  say." 

"It's  Phil,  all  right!"  exclaimed  Peter,  with 
a  satisfied  laugh.  u  I  am  backing  him!  "  That 
was  all  there  was  to  it — this  dramatic  episode. 

"Ripping!"  remarked  one  of  the  young 
officers. 

Madame  Ribot's  foot  was  softly  tapping  the 
sward  as  she  watched  Phil  on  Henriette's  arm 
leaving  the  grounds.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sanford  and 
Peter  followed,  and  silently  until  they  passed 
under  the  Oral  Surgery  sign,  when  Peter  said: 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it  that  way.  I  was  going 
to  let  Helen  tell  it  for  me,  but  someway  she  makes 
three  millions  seem  insignificant.  They  were  in 
terested  in  the  three  millions  over  at  the  Truckle- 
fords'.  I  had  passed  my  word,  and  if  I  didn't  tell 
it  might  look — well,  it  gave  them  something  to 
pass  the  time  at  tea,  and  I'm  backing  Phil.  That's 
all  there  is  to  it,  backing  Phil,  leaving  it  to  him." 

On  her  way  back  to  her  quarters  Helen  was 
conscious  that  she  was  following  the  path;  con 
scious  of  having  answered  the  greeting  of  people 
whom  she  knew  in  passing.  She  would  not  have 
noticed  the  letter  waiting  for  her  on  the  table  in 


SPINNING  WEBS  375 

the  hall  of  the  nurses'  quarters  unless  her  at 
tention  were  called  to  it.  She  took  it  up  with 
only  a  casual  glance  until  she  had  closed  the  door 
of  her  room  when  the  firm's  name  on  the  left-hand 
corner  of  the  envelope  recalled  the  fact  that  she 
had  an  exhibition  of  drawings  on  in  New  York. 
This  was  the  first  steadying  fact,  a  life-buoy  to 
grasp  at,  in  the  misery  that  had  overwhelmed  her. 
When  she  tore  open  the  envelope  a  number  of 
newspaper  clippings  fluttered  out.  On  one  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  name  of  Ribot  in  a  head 
line,  which  had  such  a  banal  effect  that  she  let  the 
clipping  lie  where  it  had  fallen. 

"  As  I  have  written  already,  the  first  week  in 
October  was  the  only  time  I  had  open,"  she  was 
reading  the  manager's  letter  mechanically  at  first. 
"  But  it  does  not  seem  to  matter  when  Miss  Helen 
Ribot  exhibits.  As  for  your  succes  d'estime,  read 
the  enclosed  reviews.  More  to  the  point,  perhaps, 
is  that  I  have  already  sold  fifteen  of  your  draw 
ings.  Thinking  that  this  might  be  as  welcome  as 
the  clippings,  I  enclose  a  check  for  a  thousand 
dollars  on  account. 

"  As  to  your  question  about  settling  in  America, 
I  know  that  M.  Vailliant  advises  against  it;  but 
my  answer  to  him  is  that  art  is  international  and 
any  artist  works  best  in  the  surroundings  which 
he  likes  best.  One  does  or  does  not  become  an 
American.  If  you  catch  our  spirit,  as  I  think  you 
will,  then  your  place  is  secure,  whether  you  do 


376  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

what  you  call  real  drawings  or  something  more 
popular.  I  prefer  your  real  drawings^-and  more 
of  them,  please. 

"  I  want  another  exhibition  in  the  spring  and 
shall  reserve  the  last  week  in  February  for  you 
unless  I  hear  otherwise,  hoping,  however,  that 
you  will  be  with  us  before  then.  Let  me  know 
your  steamer  and  I  shall  meet  you  at  the  pier. 
My  wife  joins  me  in  asking  you  to  stay  with  us 
until  you  have  found  a  satisfactory  studio. 

"  P.  S.  Won't  you  send  a  photograph  of  your 
self?  One  of  the  magazines  which  is  making  a 
special  article  on  your  work  wants  it.  Perhaps 
you  have  something  which  some  friend  has  drawn 
of  you;  or,  better,  which  you  have  done  of  your 
self." 

The  letter  pointed  the  way;  it  threw  out  the 
bridge  on  the  other  side  of  the  promised  land. 

"  And  a  picture  of  myself!  "  she  thought,  when 
she  caught  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the  mirror. 
"  No,  I'll  not  send  that."  They  would  have  to 
see  her,  though,  and  they  would  say  in  America, 
as  everywhere  else,  How  plain  she  is ! 

"I  don't  have  to  exhibit  my  face,  though!" 
she  declared  defiantly.  "  I  needn't  meet  people 
except  those  who  have  to  do  with  my  work." 

Those  unfinished  sketches  which  she  took  out 
of  her  trunk  for  examination  still  seemed  to  have 
been  done  by  another  hand.  She  had  lost  her 
zest.  The  world  wanted  her  drawings  and  she 


SPINNING  WEBS  377 

was  not  caring  whether  or  not  she  ever  made  an 
other  one — that  was  the  truth  of  her  mood  to 
night.  But  she  thought  of  herself  as  tired.  A 
long  walk  after  dinner  and  a  good  sleep  would 
clear  the  cobwebs  out  of  her  mind.  Yet  she  was 
looking  out  of  her  window  at  the  stars  after  mid 
night  and  saw  the  sun-up  after  a  restless  night. 

Once  in  America  she  would  begin  afresh;  all 
her  old  verve  and  love  of  art  would  return.  She 
could  not  start  too  soon.  Leave  to  go  to  Paris, 
first  I  Bricktop  could  arrange  this  and  meanwhile 
she  could  get  her  discharge  from  the  hospital. 
She  would  go — go !  She  could  not  wait  another 
day. 

;'  Well,  soon  I'll  have  his  harness  off  and  then 
Phil  can  speak,"  said  Bricktop,  who  had  a  slack 
half-hour  and  was  in  a  talking  mood,  which  meant 
that  you  had  to  follow  his  lead  or  rather  trail 
on  his  swell  like  a  small  boat  in  tow  of  a  fast 
cruiser.  "  And  let  me  tell  you  that  if  he  hadn't 
had  a  good  constitution  and  a  nerve  of  steel  there 
wouldn't  have  been  a  chance.  Another  thing — 
you !  You  gave  the  inspiration  to  his  will  that 
kept  the  blood  going  out  into  the  veins  of  all 
that  tissue  that  had  to  wait  to  be  fitted  into  its 
place.  Why,  you  and  I,  Helen,  have  done  a  stunt 
that  makes  me  wonder  if  the  good  Lord  did  not 
give  a  special  dispensation  to  my  clumsy  old  fingers 
in  this  case !  " 


378  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

She  had  heard  this  before.  It  helped  her  now 
and  it  hurt,  too,  as  she  listened,  trying  to  smile. 

«  And  he " 

"  Yes,  while  I  get  my  breath  you  may  put  in  a 
word  edgewise,"  continued  Bricktop,  with  a  ges 
ture  of  amused  condescension. 

"  He  will  be  quite  as  he  was  before  ?  " 

"  Quite,  as  I  keep  repeating.  A  few  little  scars 
that  will  go  away  in  time.  You  see,  it  was  a  pe 
culiar  kind  of  side-wipe;  doesn't  need  much  skin 
grafting.  Why,  what  you  can  do  with  people's 
faces!  If  everybody  were  taken  young  nobody 
need  be  bad-looking.  We  straighten  crooked 
teeth,  reconstruct  mouths.  Why  not  faces? 
Why,  there  was  a  woman  in  New  York  who  felt 
badly  about  her  face  and  I  gave  her  a  brand-new 
one.  Could  have  had  plenty  of  patients  of  that 
kind  and  made  loads  of  money.  It  might  have 
been  '  Bricktop  on  Beauty  '  instead  of  '  Bricktop 
on  Jaws.'  Suggestion  was  too  alliterative — I 
stuck  to  jaws." 

Helen  was  laughing.  One  had  to  laugh  when 
Bricktop,  red-headed,  freckled,  with  a  manner 
as  distinctly  his  own  as  any  great  comedian's,  was 
going  full  tilt.  Besides,  they  were  comrades,  these 
two;  they  understood  each  other. 

'  Why  shouldn't  everybody  be  pleasing  to  the 
eye?  They  will  be,  one  of  these  days,"  he  went 
on  excitedly.  "  Why,  Helen,  I  could  make  you 
good-looking ' ' 


SPINNING  WEBS  379 

He  clapped  his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"  My  mother  said  that  I  would  talk  myself  to 
death  some  day!  "  he  gasped.  "Well,  I've  said 
it!" 

She  was  smiling  at  his  confusion  in  a  way  that 
cured  it. 

"You  could!  You  could!"  she  exclaimed 
banteringly,  as  if  she  were  teasing  him  for  such 
a  good  opinion  of  himself. 

4  Yes,  you  bet  I  could!  "  he  declared. 

"  Even  my  nose?  "  she  said,  with  a  defiant  sort 
of  scepticism. 

Before  she  could  prevent  him  he  had  thumb 
and  forefinger  on  that  nose  and  was  pinching  it 
and  feeling  of  it  in  a  way  that  made  her  cry  out, 
"  Stop!  "  indignantly  and  draw  away. 

"  Perfectly  easy !  You  have  the  cartilage  for  a 
Number  One  nose,"  he  went  on,  his  professional 
eagerness  undisturbed.  "  All  that  happened  was 
that  the  good  Lord  intended  to  make  you  fine- 
looking — and  only  the  nose  stands  in  the  way 
— and  was  called  off  on  a  hurry  case  before  He 
had  sculped  down  the  material.  There's  too  much 
of  it!  " 

"  I  know  it!  "  proclaimed  Helen  defiantly. 

Bricktop  was  making  gestures  in  his  ha 
bitual  fashion  to  indicate  what  he  would  do 
with  that  curse  of  hers  if  he  were  to  have  a 
chance. 

"  Why,  I  wouldn't  need  to  leave  any  scar  ex- 


380  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

cept  just  in  the  dip  of  the  nostril  and  under  the 
point,  where  they  wouldn't  show."  His  profes 
sional  ambition  was  excited;  a  greedy  look  was  in 
his  eyes.  "  Shame !  Absolute  shame  not  to  do 
it!  Unfair  to  your  friends,  unfair  to  yourself — 
to  everybody !  " 

"  Of   all   the    ridiculous "    gasped   Helen, 

breaking  again  into  laughter  of  the  kind  that  hides 
that  undercurrent  of  seriousness  which  often  gives 
to  badinage  its  cutting  edge. 

"  Come  on !  It's  a  cinch !  "  pleaded  Brick- 
top.  '  Just  bandages  over  your  nose  for  two 
weeks,  then  bandages  off  and  everybody  saying 
what  a  good-looking  woman  Helen  is.  Come 
on!" 

People  would  say  that  she  was  good-looking, 
all  for  the  ridiculous  business  of  making  some  cuts 
in  her  nose !  Imagine  her  going  about  while  her 
nose  was  bandaged!  Preposterous!  But  in 
America,  where  nobody  knew  her?  Some  little 
scars  that  nobody  would  notice ! 

"  Can  you  get  me  leave?  Can  I  go  away 
somewhere?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes.    You  are  attached  to  my  shop,  now." 
"  And  then  to  America !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"What!    To  America!    You!" 
"  I'm  going  to  become  a  citizeness." 
11  Good !  "   cried   Bricktop.     Back  of  his  en 
thusiasm  was  more  than  welcome  to  his  native 
land.    It  meant  that  she  could  not  be  heart-broken 


SPINNING  WEBS  381 

because  there  was  another  in  her  place — or,  didn't 
it  mean  that? 

"  When  will  you  do  the  starting?  "  she  asked. 
"  The  sooner  the  better!  " 

"  Now!  "  answered  Bricktop.  "  And  I'll  send 
you  away  in  my  car — needn't  go  to  bed!  " 

"  I'll  run  and  pack  my  things — and  I'll  say 
good-bye  to  Cousin  Phil,  for  I  shan't  see  him 
again!  " 

She  was  proud  of  the  matter-of-course  manner 
of  the  remark.  This  perfectly  fantastic  business 
of  having  her  nose  remodelled  had  put  her  in  the 
mood  which  should  make  light  of  everything. 

It  took  her  only  a  half-hour  to  pack.  Her 
wardrobe  was  simple  and  her  speed  in  keeping 
with  that  of  people  who  have  simple  \vardrobes 
was  heightened  by  a  delirious  excitement.  She 
was  going,  going!  She  did  not  want  to  wait  an 
other  day,  another  hour.  In  America  all  would 
be  right — fortune  and  new  friends;  another  Helen 
Ribot.  The  determination  and  courage  which 
had  faced  Phil's  wound  and  helped  to  bring  him 
back  to  life  had  not  allowed  her  to  think  of  him, 
except  that  she  must  say  good-bye  to  him.  She 
was  galvanised  by  her  own  will,  compelling  a 
philosophy  which  should  let  nothing  interfere  with 
its  light-hearted  measure  as  she  entered  the  ward. 

There  he  was,  sitting  in  his  chair  as  she  had 
seen  him  for  many  weeks.  An  end  of  all  writ- 


382  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

ing  of  messages;  of  the  hand-clasps  of  good-morn 
ing  and  good-night;  of  a  texture  of  existence 
woven  into  his — but  "  Stop !  "  said  will.  The 
thing  was  over  !  Hurry  down  the  curtain !  Avoid 
melodramatic  anti-climaxes !  How  glad  she  was 
that  he  had  thought  of  her  as  visiting  him  rarely 
and  as  more  interested  in  her  drawings  than  in 
him !  And  she  was  more  interested  in  them  than 
in  any  man  that  ever  was  or  would  be !  There 
was  no  joy,  no  career  for  her  except  to  make 
white  paper  live  with  her  touch.  Now  she  knew 
herself.  That  letter  had  closed  all  doors  behind 
her  and  opened  doors  into  another  existence. 
She  had  wrought  herself  into  a  state  of  mind  which 
enabled  her  to  take  his  hand  in  the  accustomed 
way,  with  no  more  thrill  than  if  it  were  any  one 
else's.  She  was  proud  of  the  firmness  as  she 
wrote : 

"  It  is  Helen.  I'm  in  great  luck.  My  exhibi 
tion  in  New  York  is  a  success  and  I  am  going  to 
America  immediately.  I  came  to  say  good-bye." 

"Helen!" 

He  had  not  waited  to  write  the  word.  It  came 
out  quite  clearly.  He  was  drawing  her  nearer  to 
him  with  his  hand-clasp,  as  he  had  before.  Now 
he  would  be  touching  her  hair  as  he  had  before; 
but  instead,  his  other  hand,  groping,  had  caught 
her  arm.  She  was  in  a  vise,  dazed.  Then  all 
that  she  had  reasoned  out  of  herself  came  surg 
ing  back  in  consuming  possession  of  her.  Oh, 


SPINNING  WEBS  383 

God,  why  would  he  do  that !  What  did  he  mean  ? 
It  could  not  be — no,  it  could  not  be !  She  tried 
to  draw  away,  but  the  effort  was  only  a  quiver. 

"  I  can  write  better.  My  pad,  please,"  he  mur 
mured. 

It  seemed  very  heavy  and  then  very  light  to  her 
as  she  brought  it,  tremblingly,  wonderingly.  A 
peal  of  bells  was  ringing  soft  notes  in  her  ears 
and  her  brain  was  numb.  She  watched  each  letter 
as  it  was  written,  tracing  out  her  fate.  For  she 
had  admitted  the  thing  to  her  heart,  now.  She 
could  never  put  it  out. 

"  It  is  hard  to  explain,  but  something  told  me 
that  it  was  you — your  spirit,  your  touch,  that  first 
day  when  I  should  have  slipped  but  for  you — 
and  yet  I  knew  it  could  not  be.  The  pain  devils 
never  let  me  think  quite  clearly.  Then  you  had 
seemed  to  avoid  me  and  Henriette  had  said  she 
would  wait.  It  was  understood  with  Henriette. 
It  must  be  she ;  it  was  her  place — and  all  the  while 
your  spirit,  your  touch,  you  in  my  mind  and  her 
face,  her  presence,  and  it  hurt  me  to  think  that 
you  neglected  me.  This  awful  wound — and  you 
said  that  you  were  Henriette  when  I  could  not  see 
and  it  should  have  been  Henriette.  And  I  was  al 
ways  thinking,  musing,  in  my  poor,  hazy  way  of 
the  girl  with  her  cartoons  and  sketches — of  you  as 
I  saw  you  seated  against  the  wheat  shock,  across 
the,  table  at  Truckleford,  rise  on  the  other  side  of 
the  shell-hole — everywhere  you,  the  spirit  of  you 


384  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

— that,  well,  it  had  me.  Then  I  found  out  what 
the  plot  was  and  I  was  happy  and  about  to  tell 
you,  when  the  pain  devils  interfered.  Then  I 
concluded  to  wait.  Being  shut  up  in  my  own 
world,  perhaps  I  liked  to  watch  the  play.  If  you 
could  take  Henriette's  place  and  deceive  me,  how 
could  you  care  for  me?  I  enjoyed  the  comedy 
yesterday  at  Lady  Truckleford's  with  something 
akin  to  your  own  mischievousness.  But  when 
you  say  that  you  are  going  away — well,  I  can't 
let  you  go  if  there  is  any  way  of  keeping  you. 
Only  you  must  not  go  without  knowing  that  it  is 
you,  your  spirit,  which  has  pulled  me  through — 
you  that  I  love.  And  you — do  you  care?  " 

"  Big  and  little,  all  kinds  of  yes,  in  every  lan 
guage  !  "  she  replied.  "  Yes,  every  hour  through 
all  these  weeks  and  long  before  that." 

"  I  like  the  way  you  say  it — it  is  so  like  you !  " 
he  wrote  in  answer.  And  he  drew  her  close  to 
him  again  and  held  her  so  for  a  long  time. 

"  I  was  about  to "  Mischief  and  happi 
ness  were  mixed  in  her  explanation  of  the  thing 
that  Bricktop  was  about  to  undertake  on  her 
behdf. 

"  It  does  not  matter  to  me — not  if  your  nose 
were  twice  as  large." 

11  But  it  does  to  me,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  tired 
of  feeling  that  I  am  looking  over  a  mountain  top 
every  time  that  I  tie  my  shoe-laces.  Phil,  we'll 
be  getting  our  new  faces  at  the  same  time,  and  I 


SPINNING  WEBS  385 

want  to  be  as  pleasing  to  you  as  I  can.  I'm  a 
human  woman." 

He  was  smiling  inwardly  at  this,  if  he  could 
not  yet  with  the  muscles  that  nature  intended  for 
the  purpose. 

"  And  by  the  time  that  you  can  see  me  it  will 
be  the  same  Helen,  only  the  Helen  I  want  you  to 
see  always,"  she  said,  in  final  decision  of  her 
purpose  not  to  delay  acting  on  such  a  good  im 
pulse. 

"I'm  ready — and  I'm  so  happy!  Come  on, 
Mr.  Bricktop  on  Beauty!"  she  said,  as  she  en 
tered  his  office. 

Bricktop  emitted  what  he  would  have  called  a 
Comanche  yell,  which  was  utterly  against  the  regu 
lations  about  noise  in  that  smooth-running,  quiet 
British  hospital;  and  the  cause  of  it  was  not  due 
to  her  readiness  for  the  operation,  but  rather  to 
his  prompt  diagnosis  of  the  reason  for  the  happi 
ness  beaming  and  rippling  in  her  eyes. 

When  Henriette  heard  the  news  which  her 
mother  brought  to  her  room  to  avoid  the  em 
barrassment  of  her  hearing  it  first  from  Lady 
Violet,  who  was  babbling  it  in  loud  whispers  right 
and  left,  Madame  Ribot  drew  back  in  face  of  her 
daughter's  anger,  else  she  might  herself  have  been 
the  victim  of  such  a  blow  as  Helen  had  once  re 
ceived.  Madame  Ribot,  irritatingly  convinced 
that  Peter  Smithers  had  been  having  quiet  fun  at 


386  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

her  expense  on  the  ride  from  Paris,  was  inclined  to 
lay  the  blame  for  the  embarrassing  situation  at 
the  door  of  this  unspeakable  vulgarian.  She 
meant  to  cut  him  dead  if  she  saw  him  again;  but 
when  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  would  not  mind, 
she  was  only  the  more  irritated.  Now  she  was 
concerned  with  the  effect  of  defeat  on  Henriette, 
who,  after  her  tempest,  was  silent,  with  eyes  half 
closed  and  staring. 

"  Yes,"  said  Henriette  finally.  "  I'm  not  sur 
prised."  Her  pride  would  not  allow  her  to  say 
so,  but  the  battle  from  the  first  had  been,  to  her 
mind,  between  her  beauty  which,  by  her  criterions, 
ought  to  conquer,  and  something  in  Helen  which 
frustrated  it.  "  Yes,"  she  repeated,  turning  to 
her  mirror  to  arrange  a  strand  of  hair.  She 
smiled  into  the  mirror  in  her  old  conceit  of  self 
and  the  mirror  smiled  back.  There  are  many  fish 
in  the  sea ! 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Madame  Ribot.  "And 
Helen  gets  a  great  fortune,"  she  added. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  her !  "  said  Madame  Ribot. 

But  Helen  was  not  at  her  quarters.  No  one 
knew  where  she  had  gone,  except  Bricktop,  who 
said  that  he  had  sent  her  away  in  Peter's  car  for 
a  rest.  But  after  her  plea  of  parental  right  he 
directed  her  to  the  little  house  which  Peter  had 
taken  for  the  Sanfords. 

Helen  was  sitting  in  a  long  chair  in  the  small 


SPINNING  WEBS  387 

garden,  punctuating  the  happiness  of  two  white 
heads  and  of  Peter  himself  by  her  remarks  about 
her  nose,  which  was  in  bandages,  and  how  she  was 
going  to  help  Peter  ruin  his  farm;  which  he  said 
she  could  ruin  in  any  way  she  pleased  without 
regard  to  priority  of  claim  in  that  line  by  either 
himself  or  Phil. 

Instead  of  cutting  Peter,  when  she  was  actually 
in  the  presence  of  the  personified  millions  Madame 
Ribot  was  most  affable  to  him,  as  well  as  to  the 
Sanfords,  speaking  of  the  common  feelings  of 
mothers  when  she  embraced  Mrs.  Sanford.  To 
Helen  she  was  demonstratively  maternal,  kissing 
her  on  the  forehead  and  cheek  many  times  and 
stroking  her  hand;  and  Helen  reciprocated,  the 
light  in  her  eyes  welcoming  belated  affection  long 
craved,  which  crowned  her  happiness.  When  they 
spoke  of  her  coming  to  America,  Madame  Ribot 
expressed  her  delight,  but  in  her  inner  conscious 
ness,  despite  her  flare,  something  cold  and  logical 
built  of  the  past  and  her  predilections  told  her  that 
she  would  never  go.  And  that  same  day  she 
slipped  away  to  Paris  and  back  to  her  old 
routine. 

The  next  time  that  Phil  sat  under  the  portrait 
of  the  English  ancestor  and  facing  the  American 
ancestor  the  Jehovah  cablegram,  now  framed,  was 
also  on  the  wall.  There  were  still  some  patches 
of  plaster  on  his  chin,  but  otherwise  he  looked  the 


388  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

same;  only  there  had  come  to  him  a  great  ex 
perience  of  battle,  of  suffering,  of  reflection,  tak 
ing  youth  over  the  boundary  into  a  manhood  which 
still  might  be  boyish. 

Across  from  him  in  her  old  place  was  Helen, 
while  Peter  made  the  seventh  of  the  party.  Phil 
could  see  her  as  clearly  as  the  first  night  that  he 
was  at  Truckleford;  he  could  hear  every  inflec 
tion  in  her  voice,  though  the  doctors  said  that  he 
must  have  a  long  rest,  free  from  shocks.  In  the 
lamplight  the  tiny  scars  on  the  lobes  of  her  nose 
did  not  show,  and  he  rather  wished  that  they 
did.  He  did  not  want  them  to  go  away. 

'  You  know,  Helen  is  really  very  good-look 
ing,"  the  vicar  had  said  again  and  again  to  his 
wife,  who  kept  replying  that  it  was  perfectly  evi 
dent. 

The  high  white  forehead,  the  fine  eyes,  the 
glorious  hair — they  were  no  longer  under  a  handi 
cap,  as  Peter  put  it.  Mischievous  challenge  was 
still  the  privilege  of  the  eyes  and  the  expressive 
mouth  seemed  always  smiling  these  days.  The 
Helen  that  the  world  saw  was  the  real  Helen, 
radiant  with  the  spirit  that  had  kept  a  man  from 
slipping  and  cried  "  Good!  "  after  that  upper  cut, 
which  was  still  a  source  of  many  chuckles  to  the 
vicar  and  the  Marquis  of  Truckleford. 

The  call  was  home.  She  was  eager  for  her 
first  glimpse  of  the  valley  of  Longfield;  to  be 
welcomed  at  the  station  by  Bill  Hurley.  "  One  be- 


SPINNING  WEBS  389 

comes  an  American,  or  he  does  not;  "  she  was  one 
already. 

41  I  should  not  need  any  one  to  direct  me,"  she 
said.  "  Across  the  bridge,  up  Maple  Avenue,  turn 
to  the  left  in  front  of  the  ancestor  along  the  path 
under  the  elms — and  that  is  it,  a  simple,  old  frame 
house  in  a  yard  facing  the  biggest  elm  of  all." 

"Don't  forget  the  farm!"  Peter  suggested. 
44  I  don't  mean  to  be  as  lonely  as  I  have  been." 

She  smiled  to  Peter  in  the  way  that  he  liked  to 
have  her  smile  at  him. 

44  For  that,  you  follow  the  main  road  past  the 
ancestor  on  up  the  hill.  Turn  in  between  two 
great  stone  pillars  and  keep  along  a  winding  drive 
which  gives  you  glimpses  of  herds  grazing,  and 
you  will  come  to  another  simple  frame  house. 
Then  keep  along  another  drive  on  that  little  farm 
past  screens  of  larches  and  the  garage  and  you 
will  come  to  the  stables  and  the  dairy  and  the 
barns." 

"  Right !  "  said  Peter.  "  By  George  !  I  believe 
it's  time  I  enlarged  that  house  or  built  a  new  one, 
or  the  big  barn  will  get  ashamed  of  it." 

The  two  white  heads  of  Truckleford  felt  that 
they,  too,  knew  Longfield.  Their  promise  was 
given  that  one  day  they  would  undertake  that 
formidable  journey  from  their  insular  home 
across  the  Atlantic  and  taste  Virginia  ham  and 
sweet  corn  on  their  native  heath.  Peter  had  told 
them  how  he  would  send  them  spinning  over  the 


390  THE  OLD  BLOOD 

highways  to  the  suburbs  of  Boston,  to  Cape  Cod 
and  the  White  Mountains,  and  skirting  the  gleam 
ing  silver  of  the  Hudson  to  Manhattan,  where 
the  skyscrapers  rise  from  their  granite  beds. 

Only  the  presence  of  Bricktop  was  needed  to 
round  out  this  dinner  party  at  the  vicarage;  but 
he  was  too  busy  in  France  making  the  relatives 
and  the  sweethearts  of  other  maimed  men  rejoice, 
to  accept  any  invitations. 

"  I  was  backing  Phil,"  Peter  mused,  after  he 
had  lighted  his  cigar;  and,  as  Bill  Hurley  had 
repeatedly  said,  Peter  was  "  nobody's  fool." 

"  Phil  ain't,  either,"  Bill  concluded,  after  he 
saw  the  girl  that  Phil  brought  home  from  the 
wars. 


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Business  of  Life,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 

Butterfly  Man,  The George  Barr  McCutcheon 

By  Right  of  Purchase Harold  Bindloss 

Cabbages  and  Kings O.  Henry 

Cab  No.  44 R.  F.  Foster 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The Harold  Bell  Wright 

oape  Cod  Stories Joseph  C  Lincoln 

Cap'n  Eri Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Caravaners.  .Author  of  Elizabeth  and  Her  German  Garden 

Cardigan Robert  W.  Chambers 

Carmen (Geraldine  Farrar  Edition) 

Carpet  From  Bagdad,  The Harold  MacGrath 

Cash  Intrigue,  The George  Randolph  Chester 

Castle  by  the  Sea,  The H.  B.  M.  Watson 

Claw,  The Cynthia  Stockley 

C.  O.  D Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln 

Colonial  Free  Lance,  A Chauncey  O.  Hotchkiss 

Coming  of  the  Law,  The Chas.  A.  Seltzer 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The Booth  Tarkington 

Conspirators,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 

Counsel  for  the  Defense Leroy  Scott 

Crime  Doctor,  The E.  W.  Hornung 

Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A Mary  E.  Waller 

Cynthia  of  the  Minute Louis  Joseph  Vance 

Dark  Hollow,  The Anna  Katharine  Green 

Dave's  Daughter Patience  Bevier  Cole 

Day  of  Days,  The Louis  Joseph  Vance 

Day  of  the  Dog,  The George  Barr  McCutcheon 

Depot  Master,  The Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Desired  Woman,  The Will  N.  Harben 

Destroying  Angel,  The .Louis  Joseph  Vance 

Diamond  Master,  The Jacques  Futrelle 

Dixie  Hart Will  N.  Harben 

El  Dorado Baroness  Orczy 

>  Elusive  Lsabel. ,,,,,..,,,.,,,,,,,,,..  .Jacques  Futrettf 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


A     000  927  549     6 


